


Desperate Measures

by CelestialVoid



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Canon Divergence, Car Sex, Consensual Underage Sex, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Face-Fucking, Hand Jobs, Light Bondage, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Porn With Plot, Post-Season/Series 03A, Power Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Prostitute Stiles, Prostitute Stiles Stilinski, Riding, Season 3B on Didn't Happen, Sex Toys, Shameless Smut, Smut, Smut and Angst, Top Isaac Lahey, Top Peter Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 02:27:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 19
Words: 37,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7415935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialVoid/pseuds/CelestialVoid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his father is wounded in the line of action and has to stand down from his posting for a few months, things get rather difficult and Stiles has to find other ways to help out with his money, however part time jobs are not an option and his ADHD and accident-prone nature means that he can’t find employment anywhere.<br/>Desperate times call for desperate measures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles buried his hands in the pockets of his jeans, following Isaac upstairs and into his bedroom. He shut the door behind them, stripping off his hoodie and shirt as he stepped up to Isaac’s side. He cupped the slender boy’s face, bringing their lips together.

Stiles was patient but firm and insistent, waiting until Isaac relaxed into the warmth of the kiss and parted his lips, but once the permission had been granted Stiles showed no hesitation in thoroughly ravaging Isaac’s mouth.

Isaac coiled his arms around Stiles’ shoulders, lacing his fingers through the soft locks of Stiles’ unkempt chestnut hair.

Stiles’ dropped one of his hands to Isaac’s slender waist, pulling him closer. The other hand slid into his golden curls, gently tugging at the back of his skull. Isaac gasped, his lips falling open as Stiles tilted his head, trailing faint kisses across Isaac’s jaw and the bulge of his Adam’s apple before running back up to his lips.

Stiles slid his hand up under the hem of Isaac’s shirt, lifting it over his firm abs and pulling back in order to help Isaac strip it off over his head. Isaac craned his neck and chased Stiles’ soft pink lips, crushing their lips together in a messy kiss. He opened his lips, welcoming the warmth of Stiles’ dominating tongue. It was passionate, searing, brutal and bruising. It was hard and deep and messy, a savage domination of tongues as they devoured each other. He hummed against Stiles’ lips, his nimble fingers tugging at the buckle of Stiles’ belt.

Stiles drew back, dropping his lips to Isaac’s throat, gently kissing, nipping and sucking at the pale skin. The soft buds of his fingertips trailed down through the seams of Isaac’s tight muscles, making the boy gasp and arch to Stiles’ touch.

Stiles dropped to his knees, his nimble hands making quick work of Isaac’s tight jeans. He swiftly unlatched Isaac’s belt, pressing kisses against the trail of golden hairs that vanished beneath the waistband of his pants. He undid the button and caught the zip between his teeth, dragging it down slowly. The vibrations rattled his teeth and left a shiver clawing at his spine. Isaac watched him with glassy lustful eyes, jaw slack and lips quivering with shallow breaths.

Stiles decided it would be best to put him out of his misery, sliding his fingers under his waistband of Isaac’s jeans and dragging the thick denim down to his ankles. He ran his palms up Isaac’s thighs, his warm touch making the boy gasp and whimper, his firm muscles twitching as if eagerly waiting to be touched more. He pressed tender kisses against the bulge that pushed against the soft cotton of Isaac’s boxers, palming his balls through his underwear and leaving Isaac in a mess of incoherent moans. Stiles hooked his fingers beneath the elastic band, dropping them down to the floor where they pooled around Isaac’s ankles.

Stiles pressed soft kisses against the protruding bones of Isaac’s hips, nipping at the tender skin. Isaac yelped as Stiles sucked hard enough to bruise his luminescent skin.

Stiles chuckled, licking his lips as he turned his attention to Isaac’s hard cock. He brushed his palm against Isaac’s neglected length, feeling his cock twitch as he whimpered and buckled to Stiles’ touch. Stiles pressed soft kisses to Isaac’s dick, turning his lustful brown eyes up to meet Isaac’s glittering irises.

Stiles licked the wet trail along the underside of Isaac’s cock, making the boy groan with pleasure. It spurred Stiles, and so – without warning – he took the tip of Isaac’s cock into his mouth, teasing with his tongue before swallowing down as much as he could.

Stiles was a gorgeous young man, and one who happened to look even better with a dick in his mouth.

Isaac threw his head back, crying out as he ran his fingers through Stiles’ tussled hair. Isaac’s hips buckled towards Stiles’ face. Stiles purred, pulling back to swirl his tongue around the head of Isaac’s cock, lapping at the tip.

Stiles drew back, running his tongue up the underside of Isaac’s cock. He hummed at the sound of Isaac’s needy whimpers, the vibrations rumbling against his sensitive cock and making him gasp and whine.

Stiles pressed sloppy kisses against Isaac’s cock, swirling the ball of his thumb around the head of his cock, spreading the forming bead of precome.

Stiles took his length back in his mouth, sinking down over him and sucking hard enough that Isaac’s knees trembled. Beads of salty precome dripped from the head of Isaac’s cock, falling to Stiles’ tongue as he sucked, moving his mouth up and down the boy’s impressive length. Isaac’s knees began to bow, his legs threatening to give way. Stiles brought his hands to Isaac’s hips, ready to hold him upright if he had to.

Isaac threw his head back, his erotic cry was broken by his gasps as air failed to reach his lungs. He tightened his grip on Stiles’ hair, nails dragged at Stiles’ skull and tugging at the strands as his hips instinctively thrusted into the warmth of Stiles’ mouth.

He was close. Stiles knew all his tells by now.         

He began to move faster, sucking at his length and swirling his tongue around his head, setting a pattern that drove Isaac over the edge.

Stiles sank down over Isaac’s cock again, feeling the hot rush of semen spill into his mouth. Stiles stayed there, sucking at Isaac’s cock and milking him until he was spent.

Slowly, he drew back, looking up at Isaac as he swallowed. His soft pink lips were splattered with a few stray drops of salty jizz, he licked them up.

Isaac helped Stiles to his feet, cupping his face and brining their lips together in another blistering kiss. Isaac caught Stiles’ lip between his teeth, biting down on the warm flesh hard enough to draw blood.

Stiles hissed as a wave of pain flooded his veins and the copper taste of bitter, metallic blood seeped into his mouth.

Isaac ran his tongue across Stiles’ wound, pressing tender kisses against the torn flesh.

Stiles parted his lips, welcoming the warmth of Isaac’s tongue. Isaac cupped his mole-speckled cheeks with one hand, the other grabbing at the mess of his hair as he crushed their mouths together.

It always shocked Stiles how much Isaac came out of his shell during their time together. When he was like this he wasn’t the sweet little innocent boy that everyone knew, he was different; savage, passionate and possessive.

Stiles tilted his chin, deepening the kiss. He ran his hands up Isaac’s chest, feeling his fingers dipping into the curves of his muscles and over the thin dusting of chest hair as he coiled his arms around Isaac’s neck and pulled him closer. His lungs burnt, desperate for air.

He broke away to gasp for breath before bringing their lips together again.

It was passion. Pure, unadulterated, savage passion.

Isaac stepped backwards, guiding Stiles towards the bed.

Stiles braced his hands against Isaac’s chest, shoving him back against the mattress. He clambered atop of him, straddling his waist and bringing their lips together against as he ground his hips against Isaac’s returning erection.

“Fuck,” Isaac gasped, his hot breath rolling across Stiles’ lips.

Stiles chuckled breathlessly, nibbling at the edge of his lip as he buckled his hips again, craning his neck to devour the exposed flesh of Isaac’s throat. He ran his tongue across the bulge of his Adam’s apple, feeling the vibration of gasps and whimpers as he ground his hips into the sheets. He bit lightly down on the junction of Isaac’s neck and shoulder, making him arch and whimper. Having found a spot sensitive enough to earn such a response, Stiles teased it relentlessly

It was just a job - - he did it for the money - - but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy it.

Isaac made it easy. He was a great lover – gentle and tender in all the right places but passionate and rough enough to drive Stiles to the point of begging – and very good looking; with plump lips, sparkling eyes, his glowing skin, his smooth jaw and pointed cheekbones, firm abs, incredible strength, his soft golden curls, and more than impressive dick.

Stiles sat back, sliding his fingers under the waistline of his jeans and slowly undoing the button.

Isaac’s ravenous eyes devoured every inch of his body, his fingers clawing at the rough denim as he relieved Stiles of his pants. He licked at his lips, eyes rolling over Stiles’ abs, trailing down to his exposed cock.

Stiles slid his fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the slender digits and drenching them in saliva. He reached behind himself and gently teased himself open, sliding a finger inside. He gasped at the sudden intrusion and it didn’t help that Isaac took that moment to seize Stiles’ throbbing erection in his hand, running his hand up and down his pulsing length.

Stiles moaned, buckling into Isaac’s touch and then grinding back against his own fingers. He slid a second finger into his ass, gasping as Isaac rolled the ball of his thumb across the head of Stiles’ cock.

“Condom,” Stiles purred.

Isaac released his grip on Stiles’ length, dropping his hand to Stiles’ hip to keep him upright as he reached into the draw of the bedside dresser. He pulled a condom out of the pack and a bottle of lube out of the draw.

Stiles snatched the condom from his hold, tearing open the foil packet and rolling the condom over Isaac’s length. Isaac popped open the bottle of lubricant – as eager as ever – and poured a small amount onto his hand. He ran his palm up and down his cock, smearing to cool lube over his length as Stiles positioned himself in his lap.

He slowly sank down over Isaac’s length, letting out a savage cry as Isaac edged into him inch by inch. They stayed still for a moment, waiting for the tight muscles of Stiles’ ass to adjust to Isaac’s thick cock.

Isaac sat upright, littering tender kisses across Stiles’ collarbone.

Stiles was the first to move, grinding down against Isaac’s length before setting a slow rhythm of shallow thrusts.

Isaac took the lead, grabbing Stiles’ hip and thrusting into him. He rolled the boy onto the sheets, listing his waist up and coiling Stiles’ legs around his waist as he leant forward, crushing their mouths together in order to muffle their moans as he began to move faster, drawing his length out to the tip before slamming into Stiles’ ass again.

Stiles clawed at the bedsheets, balling his fists and scratching at the soft cotton.

Isaac nipped at his throat, not hard enough to leave a mark, but just hard enough to make Stiles cry out from overstimulation. Isaac sat back, grabbing Stiles hips and thrusting into him faster.

“Isaac,” Stiles moaned, earning a growl in response.

Isaac withdrew from Stiles.

“Turn over,” he instructed.

Stiles did as told, rolling onto his hands and knees.

Isaac took a moment to look at him, spreading his palm and smacking the soft tissue of Stiles’ ass. Stiles yelped, arching back to Isaac’s touch. Isaac leant forward, purring as he pressed kisses down the curve of Stiles’ spine and spanking the boy again.

Isaac straightened his back, realigning his cock with Stiles’ ass. He thrust into him, hard enough that the boy fell forward, pressing his forehead against the sheets. He pushed back against Isaac’s cock, encouraging him to continue. Isaac thrusted into him violently, pounding his ass.

Isaac watched as the freckles danced across the blanket of Stiles’ smooth skin, rippling with his movements.

Stiles’ moans were strangled into broken gasps as he grew closer and closer to his climax.

Isaac grabbed his shoulder and pulled him up onto his knees. He buried his face into the curve of Stiles’ neck inhaling the scent of bitter, primitive sweat and undeniable arousal that radiated off his skin. He angled his hips and thrust against Stiles’ prostate, driving the boy mad.

Stiles cried out, lifting and arm to grab at a fistful of Isaac’s golden curls.

Isaac sank his teeth into the pale flesh of Stiles’ shoulder, his hips sputtering as he thrust into him and came. The sensation of semen spilling into his ass drive Stiles over the edge; hot sticky jizz flowing from his dick as a wave of pleasure rolled over him.

He collapsed back into Isaac’s arms, his head falling against his shoulder.

Isaac pressed tender kisses against the red marks that tainted his pale flesh. He nuzzled his face into Stiles’ neck, holding them there as they rode out their orgasms.

Isaac slowly withdrew from Stiles, setting the smaller boy down among the sheets as he shed the condom and cleaned the both of them up. Once done, he laid down in bed, slumping down among the blankets and pillows next to Stiles.

“You okay?” Isaac asked, turning his glittering worried eyes towards Stiles.

Stiles nodded, panting as he tried to catch his breath.

“So,” Stiles started slowly. “When are you going to tell Scott?”

“That I’m in love with him or that I’m fucking his best friend?”

“That you love him,” Stiles confirmed, slowly sitting up. He fell still, his head spinning and blood pounding in his ears.

“I don’t know.” Isaac sighed, his shy exterior returning. “I guess I’m scared to. You don’t think you could ask him if-”

“No,” Stiles interrupted. “I learnt a long time ago never to get involved in Scott’s love life.”

Isaac sat upright, handing Stiles his clothes before turning to the bedside dresser. He rummaged through the mess and pulled out a small wad of money. He flipped through the soft paper bills, thumbing aside the notes as he counted them. He handed the money over to Stiles who took it with a shy, guilty smile and buried it in the pocket of his jeans.

“How’s your English essay going?” Stiles asked, tugging his thin grey tee-shirt on overhead.

“Horribly,” Isaac laughed. He crossed the room to the small desk tucked in the corner. He picked up a single piece of paper and showed Stiles.

Stiles looked over the small scrawls of ink. “If you’re looking for a connection, try pairing your first idea and last idea together and get your evidence from chapters three, four, eight, eleven and seventeen.”

Isaac turned the paper and looked at it. “That might actually work,” he muttered.

“If I get some of mine done tonight I’ll email you a copy if you want some ideas,” Stiles offered, awkwardly trying to slide his arms into the sleeves of his plaid over-shirt and hoodie.

“That would be great,” Isaac said thankfully, his face lit by a glowing smile - - God, that smile was beautiful.

“I’ll see you later,” Stiles said, retuning the smile as he left.

He shut the door behind himself, leaving Isaac to get dressed in privacy. His limbs felt heavy as he walked down the stairs of the McCall house, feeling as if every photo on the wall was judging him; knowing who he was and what he was up to.

Scott pulled up just as Stiles crossed the front yard to climb into his bright blue Jeep.

“Hey,” Scott called. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, his voice a little hoarse.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was helping Isaac with his English paper,” Stiles replied, offering Scot a soft smile in hope that it would be more convincing. It wasn’t a complete lie.

“You can stay if you want,” Scott offered. “We’re having pizza tonight.”

“That sounds great but I’ve got to be heading home. I’ve got some stuff I need to do.”

Scott eyed him suspiciously. “Okay, if you say so.”

“See you later.” Stiles scurried into his Jeep and started the engine, listening to it roar to life as he pulled away from the curb and drove down the street.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles pulled up before Peter’s apartment on the outskirts of town. The Jeep’s engine sputtered as the rumble died away.

He ran his fingers through the scruff of his hair.

He was not looking forward to what came next.

Peter wasn’t like Isaac, he was cruel - - kinky, but cruel; manipulative, aggressive, possessive, punishing, demanding and forceful.

Stiles sighed. He bounced out of his Jeep and slammed the door shut, locking it behind him as he walked towards the large building. He walked through the front door, waving to the man behind the desk. He was there often enough that no one questioned him anymore, if anything, the receptionist seemed to look sadder every time – as if he wished Stiles never came there.

Stiles wished the same thing.

He pranced up the stairs, his heart sinking as he stepped closer and closer to Peter’s apartment. He rang the doorbell and waited.

The locks clattered as Peter pulled the door open. He turned away from the door, leaving Stiles to let himself in.

Stiles stepped inside the well-furnished apartment, shutting the door behind himself. He stripped off his jacket and shoes, emptying his pockets onto the stand by the door.

“I have someone coming over in soon so I’d appreciate if we got through this with haste,” Peter announced. “I’ll pay you double if you make me come twice as quick.”

“That won’t be hard,” Stiles muttered under his breath, stripping off his over-shirt and dropping it to the floor.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Stiles didn’t reply. He stepped forward, bringing their lips together. He ran his fingers through his immaculately groomed hair.

Peter pulled him closer, breaking away from the kiss in order to tear his thin white shirt over his head. He tossed it across the room, gabbing Stiles by his throat and hurling him back against the wall.

Stiles choked, gasping for air as hot tears stung his eyes.

Peter ran his tongue across Stiles’ parted lips, sinking back into the kiss and consuming him with his dominating tongue.

Stiles inhaled through his nose, the musky scent of Peter’s natural aroma flooding his lungs. If he tried hard enough he could convince himself it was someone else. Peter wasn’t an incredibly attractive man, but he did his best to present himself well. His light brown hair and glittering blue eyes were beautiful, however the shadows that lingered on his face failed to hide his sociopathic nature. The soft patches of groomed facial hair tickled Stiles’ face, a strange sensation that distracted him from his preferable thoughts.

Peter pulled back from the kiss, grabbing Stiles by the front of his tee-shirt and dragging him into the lowered lounge room.

“We’re playing with toys tonight,” Peter said with finality, sitting down on a cold iron chair and pulling Stiles into his lap. He brought their lips together again.

Stiles ran his hands over Peter’s body, caressing his abs and trailing his fingertips up to Peter’s chest. He brushed his fingertips across Peter’s firm biceps and down his arms, reaching down to the legs of the chair and fastening the heavy leather cuffs around his wrists.

Stiles pulled away from the kiss, bringing his lips to Peter’s neck; kissing, sucking and nipping at the warm flesh.

“Toys,” Peter growled.

Stiles sat back, glancing over his shoulder to look at the variety of sex toys that Peter had set out on display. He climbed off of Peter’s lap, eyes rolling over the man’s disgustingly large collection of gags, ropes, blindfolds, dildos, vibes, nipple clamps, cock rings, butt plugs, and anal beads.

He collected a small vibrator and switched it on, listening to it buzz. He looked at Peter’s needy eyes, his confident composure still intact.

Stiles stepped forward again, crouching between Peter’s legs. He pushed the vibrator up against the thick denim of Peter’s jeans, listening to him growl and gasp as his hips rocked towards the sensation. Stiles ran the vibe up and down the bulge that pushed against Peter’s pants. With his spare hand reached up and undid the button of Peter’s tight jeans. He caught the zipper between his teeth, dragging it down. The vibrations of the zip and the vibe made Peter moan.

Stiles dropped the vibe and pulled Peter’s pants off, his boxers following soon after. Stiles pressed a tender kiss to the underside of Peter’s hard cock, pressing the vibe to the spot where his lips had been. Peter’s hips buckled to the sensation, a strangled whimper falling from his lips.

Stiles reached forward, bringing his lips to Peter’s chest. He trailed kisses across his hair-dusted sternum, latching his mouth around the man’s firm nipple. He sucked hard, feeling Peter’s breath catch in his throat as he bowed his back towards Stiles. Stiles pulled back, swirling his tongue around the hard nipple.

Peter purred, urging Stiles on.

Stiles lifted his gaze, captivated by the vibrant sapphire irises that watched him carefully as he caught the nipple between his teeth and tugged at it.

His snarky composure was shattered, his cheeks flushed and pink and his lips open and quivering for broken gasps. Peter’s breath hissed through gritted teeth.

Stiles lapped at Peter’s nipple, dragging his tongue around it slow, torturous circles. He moved his hand, pumping Peter’s shaft and dragging the vibe over his head. Beads of precome spilt across the vibe, helping it glide across his dick. Peter moaned and withered beneath Stiles’ touch.

“Ride me,” Peter ordered as he caught his breath.

Stiles rose to his feet and stripped off his tee-shirt, unbuckling his belt and dropping his pants to the floor. He reached over to the table, collecting a condom and lubricant. He tore open the foil packet and rolled it over Peter’s length. He poured some lubricant over his hand spread it over Peter’s dick before reaching behind himself and wiping some over his tight asshole.

He climbed onto Peter’s lap, grinding his soft ass cheeks against Peter’s painfully hard erection, making him sputter and gasp. He sank down over Peter’s dick, taking his length in his ass. He buckled his hips against Peter’s groin moaning as he began to move.

“Turn around,” Peter instructed.

Stiles obeyed, moving around so that he faced the mirror on the far wall. Peter liked the mirror, that way he could see Stiles’ broken expression and hard cock while also watching his cock pound the boy’s tight ass.

He ended up with his thighs spread wide over Peter’s lap. His back was pressed against Peter’s chest with the man’s pulsing erection pressed against Stiles’ entrance.

Stiles sank down over his length, his muscles clenching against the intrusion but slowly relaxing to welcome Peter’s dick.

Stiles rose up onto his knees, until only the head of Peter’s cock was still inside of him, then sank down again with a broken moan. He repeated the action, a little faster, settling into a steady rhythm as he fucked himself on Peter’s thick cock.

Peter’s hips jerked up into Stiles’ ass, making the man whimper helplessly with his thrusts. He fucked him slowly at first, but no less deeply.

Stiles whimpered as Peter’s cock pressed against his insides, hitting all the right places.

Peter grew impatient with the slow pace. Stiles’ ass was tight and hot around him, and resisting the urge to simply give in and fuck him was testing his limited self-control. He drew out of Stiles slowly until only the tip of his head was inside of his ass and then slammed his hips back against Stiles’ ass, making the boy scream and throw his head back against Peter’s shoulder.

“That’s it, moan like a little whore,” Peter growled, craning his back in order to sink his teeth into the pale skin of Stiles’ throat. His shackles clattered as he strained against the cuffs. Peter purred, trusting into Stiles with no restraint, making the boy whimper and cry.

Stiles moved the vibe in his fingers and reached down, pressing the small vibrator to the underside of Peter’s cock, making him cry out and slam into Stiles harder and faster.

Peter began to squirm, his pace faltering and his cock twitching from strain. He was close.

Stiles sat back so that Peter’s thick cock brushed his prostate, bracing himself against the armrests of the chair as he began to move faster and faster.

Peter bit down on his shoulder blade, growling as he buckled his hips and buried his length into Stiles’ ass as he hit his peak. Peter threw his head back and drew in heavy breaths through his gritted teeth, riding out the euphoric wave of his orgasm as Stiles slowly rolled his hips.

Stiles crawled off of him and undid the shackles.

Peter sighed as he sat up, strong muscles flexing beneath his tight skin as he stretched and rose to his feet.

Stiles dressed himself, ignoring the fact that he had not reached his climax – then again there wasn’t anything about Peter that would turn him on enough to get him hard.

“Your money is on the counter by the door,” Peter stated bluntly. “You satisfied me so it’s double, as promised.”

Stiles didn’t look at him. He didn’t say anything, just collected the wad of money, shoved it in his pocket and left.

He trudged down the staircase, waving to the man behind the desk as he solemnly stepped out into the brisk evening air.

He sidestepped around a solid-built figure that walked towards him, keeping his eyes on the rough concrete of the footpath.

“Stiles?”

His blood ran cold and his heart pounded in his ears. His lungs burnt, all air knocked from him as if he had slammed a baseball bat into his chest rather than said his name. Hearing his name had shocking him, but not as much as the voice. That voice.

Against his better judgment, he turned to face the man. His soft brown eyes rolled over the dark figure; his dark grey shirt rippling over his strong arms, the open collar of his V-neck dipping down over his collarbone to reveal the patch of toned beige skin. He was young, twenty-four, but the shadows of his eyes begged to differ. His hair was dark and thick, cropped short at the base of his skull and across his strong jaw, the soft whiskers casting a shadow across his jaw and framing his sharp cheekbones. His wide-set eyes were pale beneath his dark brows, narrowed on him as the colour of his irises shifted in the light; from hazel to green, to a shade of light blue – clear, bright and focused. His face was drawn into his usual scowl, his expression unreadable as his cool eyes returned Stiles’ shocked gaze.

Derek Hale.

Stiles’ lips quivered, a mess of anger, joy, shock and fear boiling in his gut.

“You’re back?” Stiles sputtered, breathless.

Derek looked the boy over before glancing over his shoulder at his uncle’s apartment building. His brow creased. “What are you doing here?”

“Visiting,” Stiles replied defensively, shoving his trembling hands in his pockets.

“Visiting… Peter?”

“Yeah.”

Derek raised his brow in what seemed to be shock, but his expression shattered as a mix of rage and worry flooded the hazel depths of his eyes.

“Did he do something to you?” Derek asked, voice strained and his jaw tight.

“No,” Stiles replied. He had said it so often that it seemed to be the truth, but Derek had always seen through him.

Derek seemed to hesitate for a moment, opening his mouth to question the boy but he let his words fall away. He eyed Stiles scrupulously.

“I’ve got to go,” Stiles whispered, turning towards his car.

“Stiles,” Derek called, his voice halting the boy in his steps. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Stiles lied. “Fine.”


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles stumbled into his bedroom, dropping his bag by the door and emptying his pockets on the counter. He shoved the crumpled paper bills into the small jar before collapsing on his bed, burying his face and moaning into his pillows.

He rolled onto his back, groaning as he dragged his hands down his face. He pulled his phone from his pocket and unlocked the screen. He dialled the phone number he had memorised years ago, lifting the phone to his ear as the dial tone rattled his brain.

“Hey, kiddo,” came the soft greeting of the gruff voice.

“Hey, Dad,” Stiles whispered.

“Everything okay?”

He was getting sick of that question today. He knew it was just his father worrying, but it was beginning to get tedious.

“Yeah.” Stiles replied. “I got paid today so I should be able to cover the mortgage and the bills… How’s recovery going?” His father didn’t say anything, just growled. “That bad, huh?”

“Melissa says my recovery is going well, but I don’t feel any better. The pain killers aren’t working and it still hurts as much as when I was pulled out of surgery.” Stiles swallowed hard, remembering the sight of his father’s bloodied body being wheeled into surgery. “And sitting around and doing nothing is beginning to get tiresome. Apparently I have to stay here under medical attention for a couple more weeks and then a month of rehabilitation and four to eight weeks of bed rest before they'll let me go back to work, and even then I’ll be limited to desk work for a couple more months. I’m okay, though. What about you? Everything okay? Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to hear your voice. You sound better than the last time I called you. More like your usual self.”

“What, grouchy?”

“Lively,” Stiles corrected. “Confident and opinionated.”

John chuckled.

“… I miss you, Dad.”

“I miss you, too, kiddo. But I’ll be home soon, son. A couple more weeks.”

Stiles felt his heart sink into his stomach.

“Stiles, is there something you want to tell me?”

Stiles sighed. “No. Everything’s fine.” He blinked back the burning hot tears that blurred his vision. “I’ve got to go, Dad. I’ve got some assignments to do.”

“Alright, don’t stay up too late. Goodnight, Stiles.”

“Night, Dad.” He hung up the phone, feeling the cool embrace of the lonely night and the screaming silence. He dropped his phone to the mattress, hiding his face in his hands as he let his tears fall freely. He curled up on his bed, drawing his knees to his chest. He didn’t have the energy to strip off his clothes or to shower or to even slide beneath the covers. He just laid atop the blanket and cried himself to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, this chapter is really short (sorry). But I've posted two chapters this week to make up for the lack of length.  
> Hope you all enjoy it. :)


	4. Chapter 4

Beacon Hills was quiet at night.

The warmth of the summer night rolled over Stiles’ skin, revitalising him. He wore a pair of faded blue jeans and a thin white singlet. His sleeveless shirt revealed the moonlight pale skin that covered his firm biceps, freckles scattered across the flesh like the stars in the sky.

He buried his hands in his pockets, walking along the sidewalks of some of the less busy streets.

A car pulled up beside him, the engine purring as it slowed to a stop. The window wound down.

“Hey,” the driver greeted, flashing his stunning smile.

“Hey, Danny,” Stiles replied.

“Are you – uh – working tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“Got any customers?”

“Nope. You offering?”

Danny reached across the car, opening the passenger-side door and winding up the widow. Stiles climbed into the car and shut the door behind him, making quick work of Danny’s pants. He undid the zip and drew his erection out. Danny reached over behind him, pulling open the glove compartment to pull out a condom. Stiles took it from him, pressing kisses against the boy’s impressive length as he rolled the condom over his shaft.

He took Danny’s length in his mouth, listening to the man hiss and moan as he rolled his tongue around the head of his throbbing erection.

Danny ran his fingers through Stiles’ hair, his tender touch massaging the boy’s scalp. His hips instinctively buckled towards Stiles’ mouth, his body pinned down by the steering wheel and his seat belt.

Stiles hummed, Danny’s tender touches spurring him on. The vibrations of his purr made Danny moan, biting down into his lips in order to control his rugged cries.

Stiles sucked him off, moving his mouth up and down his impressive length.

Danny was the start of this. It started as a joke, a teasing offer to have sex with him because the younger boy was so desperate for sex followed by a teasing comment about how Stiles could blow him in the locker room for twenty dollars. But Danny was so gentle and caring that Stiles didn’t mind being with him – just not dating him. Dating was something that Stiles seemed to fail at. Blowjobs, however, Stiles had never failed at.

Stiles drew back, running his tongue up the underside of Danny’s cock, pressing a sloppy, open-mouth kiss against the ridge.

He ran his hands against the rough denim of Danny’s pants, palming his balls as he took his length back in his mouth. He sank down over Danny and sucked hard.

Danny cried out, legs tensing as he drew close to coming.

Danny cupped the back of Stiles’ head, encouraging him. He was never forceful or violent, in fact he was rather tender; passive.

Stiles took the hint and took Danny’s length in his mouth, taking his delicious, thick cock all the way into his throat. Stiles sucked hard, moving his head quickly. He pulled back, swirling his tongue around the head of Danny’s dick, lapping at the tip and eliciting broken cried from the man.

Stiles turned his chestnut brown eyes up to the man, watching as he threw his head back against the headrest of the driver’s seat, moaning incomprehensibly. His mouth hung open, his breathing broken and shaking his lips. His dark eyes were glazed with lust as Stiles sank down over him again and he came.

Stiles stayed there, milking Danny for all he had before drawing back. He pressed soft kisses against Danny’s shaft, letting him ride out his orgasm before he sat back in the seat.

Danny heaved in deep breaths, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. He thumbed at the paper bills and handed them over to Stiles.

“You still give the best blowjobs,” Danny whispered.

Stiles smiled, taking the bills and stowing them in his pocket.

Danny’s friendly smile dropped. “I hope things change for you soon, Stiles. You deserve better than this.”

“Thanks, Danny, but who says I don’t enjoy this?”

“Your eyes.”

“What?”

“You’re eyes give you away.”

“Take care, Danny,” Stiles said, ending the conversation as he clambered out of the car. As he stepped out onto the pavement, his phone began to ring. He pulled it out of his back pocket, reading the text from Peter. Another booty call.

Seconds later the dark Camaro – which Peter had acquired when Derek upgraded to his ‘soccer mum’ four-wheel drive and left for Mexico – pulled up to the curb. The purring engine rolled through his chest and his heart skipped a beat as he stupidly held hope that the window would wind down to reveal Derek. But, yet again, he was wrong.

In the dark shadows of the car, Peter’s slim face was lit by the moonlight.

“Get in,” he ordered.

Stiles did as told, sliding into the passenger seat of the Camaro. Once seated against the plush cushioning of the seat, Peter locked the doors, the heavy bolts slamming into place.

Stiles drew in a deep breath. _It’s only a job_ , he reminded himself.

He turned in his seat, facing Peter and bending over to undo his pants. He drew Peter’s half-hard cock from beneath his silky boxers, pressing sloppy kisses against the tip and rolling his tongue around his head as he edged his length into his mouth.

Peter grabbed at a fistful of Stiles’ hair, shoving his head down over his cock. The intrusion burnt in his throat and tears stung at his eyes. He choked against the head of his thick cock, a muffled cry tearing at his throat as Peter pulled his head back up, skull burning as Peter tugged at his hair and thrust his dick back into Stiles’ mouth.

Peter fucked his mouth; not as violently as he would pound Stiles’ ass, but hard enough to prick tears in the boy’s eyes and leave his hands trembling.

Stiles struggled with the effort of breathing and sucking Peter’s length at the same time. He decided it was best to let Peter use him, trying to regain control and pleasure the man would only make things worse.

His broken gasps and whimpers spurred the man on as he shoved Stiles’ head down over his cock and thrusted up into his mouth viciously.

Stiles tasted the hot, salty precome that dribbled liberally from the slit of Peter’s cock, dripping across his tongue and spilling down the back of his throat.

A small tear escaped the thick bars of Stiles’ eyelashes, rolling across his cheeks and down to his chin. Stiles angled his head, turning his face into the shadows in order to hide his pain and emotions as forceful hands shoved him down over the man’s hard cock.

Peter’s rapid thrusts sputtered, his rhythm faltering as he buried his length in the warmth of Stiles’ mouth and came.

Hot, sticky semen spilled down his throat. Peter held him there, making sure Stiles took everything. He slowly pulled his length out of Stiles’ throat, leaving Stiles to cough and sputter.

“Swallow,” Peter growled.

Stiles reluctantly obeyed, swallowing hard against the rising bile in his throat.

“Good boy,” Peter purred, reaching into his pocket and handing Stiles his payment before unlocking the car doors.

Stiles stumbled onto the side walk, hearing Peter rev the engine and tear off down the street.

His head was spinning and his body was shaking, acidic bile burning at his throat. He felt as if he were still choking. Waves of nausea, shame and guilt rolled over him as he sprinted to a nearby trashcan and hurled. It was only liquid – composed mostly of jizz and sugary drinks – but it was just as unpleasant as anything else. His oesophagus burnt and he was pretty sure he was throwing up the lining of his stomach.

His arms felt heavy and his knees were trembling. His legs gave way beneath him as he collapsed to the pavement.

Warm hands steadied him, helping him upright and gently guiding him towards a car. His mind told him that he should fight back, but there was something about those hands that made him feel safe.

He slumped against the cushioning of the car seat as the tender hands laid a heavy jacket over his trembling body and strapped the seatbelt around him.

Stiles inhaled deeply, immersing himself in the musky scent that lingered on the worn leather of the jacket. The unmistakable scent.

He blinked the haze out of his eyes, looking over at the driver.

His cool hazel eyes were focused on the road, his jaw was tight as rage boiled through his veins.

His voice scratched at his throat as Stiles rasped, “Derek?”


	5. Chapter 5

The car pulled to a halt atop the hill that overlooked the quiet town. A few of the houses and office buildings glittered with golden lights, others darkened as families slept, leaving patches of black to seep into the landscape.

Derek shut off the engine, letting the hum of his four-wheel drive’s engine to die away into the silence of the night. He sighed and dropped his hands away from the steering wheel.

“What did he do to you?” Derek asked, voice quiet but firm.

Stiles turned his eyes away from the man, eyes burning with tears.

“What did Peter do to you?” Derek repeated, voice strained.

Stiles bit into his lips, trying to breathe easy.

“Stiles, I saw you leave my uncle’s apartment yesterday, and then today I followed him and I saw you get in his car, and then get out of his car and hurl up your guts.” He turned his cold eyes on Stiles. “What’s going on?”

Soft tears fell from Stiles’ eyes, caressing his mole-speckled cheeks.

“Are you two dating?”

“God no,” Stiles blurted out, feeling another wave of nausea roll over him at the thought.

He felt Derek’s gaze burn into the side of his skull.

Stiles sighed. “My father was shot while on duty. He’s been in and out of recovery and surgery for weeks. The paid medical leave barely covers the emergency surgery so I had to find my own way to cover the bills. My ADHD, paranoia and accident prone nature have made it impossible to get a part-time jobs. And even if I could, they wouldn’t pay enough. I didn’t want my dad to come out of hospital after nearly dying only to find that we had lost our house.” Stiles swallowed hard. “Money’s money.”

He dropped his gaze to his hands, realising that he had skirted around the issue completely and that wasn’t enough for Derek. He felt the man’s eyes on him.

Stiles sighed. “People pay good money for… certain services.”

“You’re soliciting yourself for sex?”

Bang on the mark.

Stiles swallowed hard, blinking back the hot tears that streaked his vision. “I had to.”

“Stiles-”

“I will do anything to make sure my Dad is happy,” Stiles growled. He unbuckled his seatbelt and leapt out of the car, slamming the door behind him.

“Stiles,” Derek called after him, leaping out of the driver’s seat.

Stiles buried his hands in his pocket and trudged on.

Derek sprinted to his side, grabbing his arm and turning him around. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“‘Why’? Seriously?! You left for Mexico without as much as saying goodbye. I didn’t even know you were back in Beacon Hills until I saw you at Peter’s. And now you think that you can just come barrelling back into our lives and sweep me off my feet like some valiant hero? You have no right to tell me what I should do or who I should be with. You left, Derek. And you have no idea how much it destroyed me when you left! So why don’t you just fuck off again?”

“I can help you,” Derek whispered.

Stiles thrashed about, breaking free of his hold. He glared at Derek and growled, “I don’t need your help.”

He turned and stormed off, leaving Derek to watch in shock as he disappeared into the shadows of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter, I'm sorry. I haven't had the time to write and this one is short and sharp.  
> Hope you all enjoy it :)


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles whacked his head against his desk, groaning at the cluttered thoughts that swarmed in his head.

“I hate math,” he whispered to himself, sitting upright and pushing aside the stack of papers, notes and worksheets.

His phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with the notification of a new message.

 

ISAAC LAHEY:

You busy?

 

He glared at the stack of homework that cluttered his desk and typed out the response: ‘No’.

Seconds later his phone buzzed again.

 

ISAAC LAHEY:

I need company.

Can you come over?

 

Stiles exhaled deeply. His thumbs typed out the words ‘Be there in 10’ before sending it and shoving the phone into the back pocket of his jeans. He rose to his feet, collected his keys and made his way downstairs. He clambered into his Jeep and started the engine, driving by habit down the route he had memorised years ago.

He pulled up out the front of Scott’s house, checking to make sure that his friend’s bike and Melissa’s car wasn’t there. He shut off the engine and walked up the small path to the front door.

He rang the doorbell and waited.

The locks rattled as Isaac opened the door.

Stiles turned to look at him, but he didn’t get much time to react before Isaac pulled him into the house and pinned him back against the door, crushing their mouths together.

It wasn’t like the kisses they’ve shared before. It wasn’t tender or cautious, it was passionate: searing, brutal and bruising. It was hard and deep and messy, a savage domination of tongues as Isaac devoured him.

Seconds later Stiles found himself upstairs and on the bed. Isaac’s nimble fingers made quick work of Stiles’ clothes, tearing them off of his body with no hesitation.

Isaac brought his mouth to Stiles’ neck, nipping and sucking at the flesh. Stiles whimpered, arching towards Isaac’s warmth. Isaac purred against his soft skin, biting down on the tender dip of flesh between Stiles’ throat and his chest.

Isaac’s hands wandered down to Stiles’ pants, unfastening his belt and tearing his jeans off of his slender legs, boxers following soon after. He ground against Stiles, crushing their mouths together as he blindly fumbled for the condom and the bottle of lube. He stripped off his own clothes and hurled them across the room, only breaking away from their kiss in order to lift his shirt over his head.

He rolled Stiles’ onto his stomach and popped open the bottle of lube, smearing the cool liquid across his fingers. He brought his fingertips to Stiles’ ass, gently massaging the ring of muscles before sliding his slender digits into the boy’s tight ass.

Stiles gasped and buckled his hips towards Isaac’s hand. His ass was tight but welcomed the boy’s touch. He whimpered, grinding against Isaac’s fingers and encouraging him to continue.

Isaac leant over Stiles’ back, trailing kisses across the boy’s neck in order to encourage him to turn. He brought their mouths together, working his fingers back and forth as he fucked Stiles open.

Stiles moaned against Isaac’s lip, welcoming his dominating tongue as he melted into the kiss. He ran his hands through Isaac’s golden curls, tilting his chin and deepening the kiss.

Isaac pulled back despite Stiles’ attempts to chase his lips. He withdrew his fingers from Stiles - making him whimper from the loss - and reached for the condom. He tore open the foil wrapper and rolled the condom over his rigid cock.

He flipped Stiles onto his back – God, he loved the supernatural strength, the way Isaac could just pick him up as if he weighed nothing at all – and Isaac settled himself between Stiles’ legs.

Isaac eased into Stiles’ tight ass. Stiles tensed for a moment at the intrusion, breathing heavily and moaned as he relaxed and welcomed the man’s throbbing length. The boy was trembling and deliciously tight, but opened up easily to the thick hardness penetrating him.

Isaac let out a satisfying purr, the rumble rolling through every point of contact. He pulled back slowly and then snapped his hips forward, driving into Stiles. Stiles let out a strangled moan, clawing at the bed sheets and buckling his hips back in a plea for more, and Isaac was happy to oblige.

He fucked Stiles deep and hard, a steady pounding that sent a buzz of pleasure straight to the boy’s cock.

Isaac withdrew his length and spread Stiles out on his side, hooking one leg over his shoulder. He pressed tender kissed to the inside of Stiles’ thigh.

Even though Stiles knew exactly what was coming, he still cried out when Isaac’s pulsing cock was shoved into him.

The first few thrusts were slow, fucking Stiles open.

He rested his hand on Stiles’ hip.

Stiles felt a cool rush in his veins as Isaac took his pain. The boy was punishing himself in a way that also seemed to pleasure him.

Stiles could feel the tension in Isaac’s thighs as he tried desperately to not to ram into Stiles’ ass.

Once convinced Stiles could take him, Isaac quickened the pace, pounding Stiles’ ass relentlessly.

His cock felt like it was rubbing against every sensitive spot inside of Stiles, sending sparks flying behind his eyelids.

He cried out, his lungs emptied by broken gasps. Every thrust made him moan. Isaac quickened his pace until Stiles was crying, a wail of pure ecstasy.

Stiles’ erection bobbed against his abs, beads of precome dripping liberally from his head.

Isaac leant forward, lifting Stiles’ other leg over his shoulder and grabbing his hips as she began to thrust faster and more violently, grunting as he pulled the boy down over his length.

His rhythm began to sputter, his hips slamming against Stiles’ ass he began to grunt.

He buried his length deep inside of Stiles’ ass, moaning as they came together, strings of hot, sticky semen spilling across Stiles’ abs.

Isaac rolled his hips a few more times, careful of Stiles’ sensitivity before he withdrew and collapsed against Stiles.

“Sorry,” he whispered, his warm breath rolling across Stiles’ bare chest. “I didn’t mean to get so violent.”

“Still good,” Stiles gasped, feeling the cool relief of air flooding his lungs.

Isaac sat back for a second, setting his hand on Stiles’ slender hip. His veins pulsed black as he drew Stiles’ pain.

Stiles sighed and sank back against the mattress. “You seem… tense. Everything okay?”

Isaac sighed, moaning as he laid down next to Stiles. “The usual.”

“Scott and Allison?”

“Yeah,” Isaac muttered, defeated. “You?”

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie,” Isaac whispered, turning to look at Stiles. “I can tell.”

Stiles sighed, his head sinking into the pillows. “Derek’s back.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Stiles whispered, unable to look at his friend.

They didn’t talk after that. They laid in silence for a few minutes before Stiles stood up and dressed. Isaac paid him and watched as he left.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry.  
> Don't worry, I hate myself too.

Stiles stared at the blank page of the Word document he had opened on his laptop. Over and over he had typed out the first few words of his essay out onto the page, only to delete them and come face to face with the emotionless blinking black line.

He let out a sigh of relief when his phone rang, disturbing the heavy silence that hung over him. But the relief was short-lived when Peter’s name lit up the screen.

He exhaled heavily and answered the phone.

“Yes?”

“Busy tonight?” Peter asked, his voice as level and composed as ever, as if he were simply holding a conversation, not hiring a sex worker.

“I could spare some time,” Stiles replied nonchalantly. “When do you need me?”

“I’m down the end of the street, I can pick you up now if you’re not preoccupied.”

“I’ll be out the front in a minute.”

Stiles hung up his phone and shoved it in his pocket. He thumped his head against the desk. He breathed deeply and shut down his computer.

Hating himself for not saying no, Stiles made his way downstairs, locking the door behind him and stepping across the damp grass.

Peter’s Camaro pulled up to the curb, the engine purring as Stiles slid into the passenger side. He didn’t look at the man.

The car still smelt of Derek, a dull musk and soft sweetness from the pine trees that surrounded the old Hale manor.

Stiles began to relax, sinking back against the plush seat of the passenger chair.

His peace was disturbed when Peter spoke.

“I’ll pay you extra for your services tonight.”

Stiles swallowed hard, his stomach twisting in knots. Stiles had learnt rather quickly that whenever Peter said that Stiles suffered.

The car ride was short but silent.

Stiles’ anxiety got worse when Peter shut off the engine, letting the silence of the night seep in around him.

He climbed out of the car and waited on the pavement.

Peter stepped around the bonnet, locking the car and resting the palm of his hand against the nape of Stiles’ neck as he directed the boy towards the apartment building.

Stiles ignored the pitiful gaze of the guy behind the desk, letting Peter guide him upstairs and into the surprisingly clean apartment.

He stopped in the doorway, his eyes falling upon the dark figure in the centre of the room.

Bright adventurine widened with shock at the sight of the boy.

Derek.

“Oh dear, I must have lost track of the time,” Peter remarked with a twisted sense of joy.

Stiles glared at the man. This was a set up, and not the kind that had good intentions for resolving issues: the kind where he purposefully crossed their paths to watch the drama unfold.

“I was just leaving,” Derek growled, grabbing his coat off the back of the chair.

“No, Derek, please, stay,” Peter said as if it were a challenge.

Derek stormed towards the door, brushing past Stiles. The door slammed shut behind him.

The boy felt his chest ache as warm tears streaked his vision.

“Bedroom,” Peter ordered, acting as if nothing had happened. Peter shrugged off his coat and hung up by the door. “Kneel at the foot of the bed.”

Stiles obeyed, turning away from Peter and stripping off his shirt and unbuckling his belt as he left a trail of discarded clothing leading to the bedroom.

Peter’s bedroom was massive, the velvety red carpet stretched across the open room with a large, king-sized bed positioned in the middle of the room. Small dressers and a closet were pushed back against the walls, a large mirror stretching out across the wall facing the bed. A large box sat atop the blankets, full of Peter’s disgustingly large collection of sex toys, binds, gags and various other things that made Stiles turn up his nose in disgust.

Stiles stripped off his boxers and knelt down at the foot of the bed as instructed, head bowed and facing the mirror.

Peter had had the decency to turn on the heater, the warm air rolling across Stiles’ exposed moonlight-pale skin. And yet, he still shivered.

Peter stepped into the room. He slid his crisp white shirt over his head and tossed it across the room.

He stopped before Stiles and slid his long, elegant fingers beneath Stiles’ chin, tilting his head up to meet Peter’s steel blue eyes.

“You look so pretty down there,” the man purred.

Stiles didn’t reply, he just stared at Peter emotionlessly.

Peter smirked and reached forward, rummaging through the box before pulling out a length of smooth crimson-dyed rope. Peter waved it before Stiles, half expecting the boy to protest. Stiles hung his head, feeling heavy tears of shame prickle his eyes as Peter chuckled at his submission.

Peter made quick work, his broad hands caressing Stiles as he bound the boy in rope.

Stiles was amazed at how the rope stood out so vibrantly against his skin, and when he glanced in the mirror – sneaking a peak when Peter wasn’t looking – he was surprised to see how good he looked. The smooth rope bled into his flesh, framing the curves of his slim body and making the few muscles he had stand out more.

Peter slid his warm hands over Stiles’ forearms, guiding him up onto the bed. The mattress bowed and wavered as Stiles crept forward – his movements restricted by the ropes.

Peter reached back into the box and brought over a ball gag and a blindfold. He crouched down before Stiles and raised an eyebrow, but Stiles didn’t object.

“You remember how to tell me to stop?” Peter asked, his voice stern.

Stiles nodded.

Peter wound the blindfold around Stiles’ coffee-brown eyes and he welcomed the darkness.

“Open your mouth,” Peter instructed.

Stiles obeyed, feeling the ball gag slide into his mouth. Peter fastened it and gave Stiles a second to adapt to the strain on his jaw.

Stiles heard him rummage through the box again.

Stiles tried to steady his breathing, there was nothing he could do now. Peter was in control.

He heard the quiet buzz of vibrator, gasping as Peter brought it to Stiles’ bare nipple. He rolled it around the rigid nipple, bringing his hand to the other – twisting and tugging at it as he began to elicit noises from the boy. He moved the vibrator away from Stiles’ nipple and ran it down through the seams of Stiles’ muscles, chuckling as the boy strained against the ropes in an attempt to arch towards the sensation.

Then it was gone.

Peter shut off the vibe and set it aside.

Stiles heard Peter unzip and shed his own pants, the mattress shifting with his movements.

Peter rummages through the box of toy again and Stiles heard the distinct sound of the lid of the bottle of lube being cracked open. He jumped at the feeling of Peter’s slick fingers press against his tight ass hole. He spread the cool liquid across Stiles’ tight entrance.

He felt something push against his asshole.

“Push back and sink down onto it,” Peter instructed.

Stiles breathed deeply, lowering his ass over the thick dildo that Peter held in position.

His ass burnt at the sudden intrusion but he did as he was told.

He let out a rugged moan, the sound stifled by the gag.

“Do you like your new toy?” Peter whispered, sliding the dildo in and out of Stiles’ tight ass.

Stiles whimpered, not out of pleasure but because he knew that Peter got off on those sounds; he got off on the thought that he was powerful enough to elicit such a response.

Peter rummaged through the box again.

Stiles felt him slide a cock ring down to the base of Stiles’ growing erection. He pressed a vibrator to the tip of Stiles’ cock, chuckling breathlessly as they boy buckled to his touch, whimpering as he shifted around the dildo.

Stiles felt Peter lean in closer, his warmth radiating against the boy’s soft skin as he reached around and turned on the dildo.

Stiles let out a broken whine as the vibrating tip shifted about inside of him.

Peter purred, stroking his own pulsing hard cock as he drank in the sight of the boy completely at his mercy.

A string of saliva dribbled out of the corner of Stiles’ mouth, dripping pass the ball gag and running down his chin.

Peter moved his hand faster, spurred on by Stiles’ whimpers and rugged breaths.

Peter pulled the boy forward, pulling the dildo from Stiles’ abused hole.

Stiles propped his weight onto his shoulders, listening as Peter picked out another toy and slid it into the boy’s ass.

He switched it on and Stiles let out a broken cry as the head bobbed and span in circles, fucking him hard from the inside.

It hurt.

He wanted it to stop, but for some reason he didn’t give the signal. Something deep inside of him, lingering in the back of his mind, told him to take it because he deserved it.

“That’s it,” Peter growled. “Cry like a filthy whore.”

Stiles was a mess of broken gasps and muffled whimpers. His legs were trembling and his body burnt with pain.

He was glad he was blindfolded. He was glad Peter didn’t see the tears that fell from his eyes, soaking into the soft cotton of the blindfold.

Peter threaded his fingers through Stiles’ hair, jerking his head back and hurling him into an upright positing.

The boy let out another cry, feeling his insides bruise as the toy abused his tight asshole.

Peter tore the gag from Stiles’ mouth, standing atop the wavering sheets with his dick in Stiles’ face.

Stiles was gasping and sputtering when Peter came with the head of his cock on Stiles’ parted lips, semen spurting out directly into the boy’s mouth.

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and made another one of those helpless moans that went straight to Peter’s cock.

Peter held him there until he was spent. He drew his cock away from Stiles’ mouth, leaving a smear of come against the boy’s pale, chapped lips.

“Swallow it,” Peter prompted and Stiles obeyed. He didn’t manage to swallow all of it; there were flecks of come on his lips and chin and some had drooled out of the corner of his mouth.

Peter switched off the dildo, leaving Stiles to collapse against the sheets as the man undid his restraints.

Stiles curled up in a ball, his body too hurt to be aroused.

His limbs were numb, his eyes brimming with tears.

He felt sick.

He felt ashamed.

He felt nothing as he crawled off the bed and dressed.

Peter handed him the money and he left, every step sending a jolt of pain throughout his body.

He waved weakly at the boy behind the counter and left, burying his hands in his pockets and trudging down the street. He made it to the corner, making sure he was out of sight before he collapsed against the rough red bricks of a wall and sank down into the shadows.

Hot and heavy tears broke free of the thick bars of his eyelashes.

He hid in the shadows of the alley and cried like the child he was.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realised (stupidly) after I posted the last chapter that this chapter was meant to be posted alongside it, but unfortunately I've pretty busy and didn't have time to post it, so sorry for the break in between the chapters.
> 
> For Pysslis, the lover of angst :)

A little while later, Stiles pulled himself back together. He stumbled too his feet, his legs trembling and threatening to collapse beneath him as he made his way to the end of the street.

He stood beneath the traffic lights, waiting for the signal to cross. He rubbed his bare forearms and shoved his hands in his pockets.

_Ignore the pain, just keep walking_ , he told himself.

The pedestrian light changed colour and Stiles crossed the road.

He walked on for a while, ignoring the burn of pain and the trembling muscles in his legs.

A car pulled up beside him.

He kept his eyes on the pavement and tried his best to ignore it.

_No more_ , he told himself.                                                                                           

“Hey,” a familiar voice called out.

Stiles turned, relieved at the sight of Scott’s friendly face.

“You going my way?” Scott asked.

“Which way are you going?”

Scott nodded ahead of him. “Hospital.”

Stiles glanced down the road, realising he had been walking by instinct and was heading away from his home. He sighed and nodded.

Scott pushed open the passenger side door of Melissa’s four-wheel-drive.

Stiles picked the thin white plastic bag full of takeout Thai – Melissa’s dinner – up off of the seat and slid into place, sitting the warm food on his lap.

“I’m glad I ran into you, actually,” Scott started. “I need someone to talk to.”

Stiles hummed, urging his friend on – he needed something to distract him.

“What do you do if you have a…” Scott shifted nervously in his seat, his finger tapping against the steering wheel. “A – uh – favourable dream about someone you’re not dating?”

“Dude, I’m really tired,” Stiles mumbled. “So either explain yourself fully or wait until tomorrow when my brain is functioning again.”

“I had an erotic dream about someone who wasn’t Allison, what do I do?”

Stiles shrugged. “Who was it?”

Scott swallowed hard, his eyes darting back and forth as if he was contemplating whether or not to answer. “… Isaac.”

Stiles wanted to scream.

He wasn’t ready to deal with this mess of emotions: it was too much for him to handle right now.

“This is what you do; drop this food off to your mum, go home, sleep until morning, and talk to Isaac then.”

“And what? Tell him I dreamt about him?” Scott asked, his voice squeaking with anxiety. “Tell him that I had a dream about having _sex_ with him?”

“No,” Stiles started, his voice calm and level. “Tell him the truth.”

Scott furrowed his brow in confusion. “The truth?”

“Dude, I’m not going to go through the whole lot of Freud theories and subconscious desires, but long story short, you like him – it’s pretty damn obvious. So tell him,” Stiles instructed. “Tell him you love him.”

Scott coughed nervously.

“Don’t try and bullshit me, man,” Stiles growled. “I’ve seen how you look at him.”

“But I love Allison too,” Scott replied. He quietened as a though struck him. “Oh God, I love them both. What do I do?”

“Polyamory?” Stiles responded without a second thought. Stiles sighed and replied rather disheartened, “I don’t know.”

Scott glanced out of the corner of his eye at his friend. “Stiles, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Stiles replied instinctively, realising that this time it wasn’t believable, his harsh tone and temperament were testament to that.

Scott pulled up in front of the hospital and Stiles got out of the car before his friend questioned him further. He carried Melissa’s food in for Scott, walking two steps ahead of his friend.

The glass doors opened before him as he trudged into the hospital.

Melissa stood behind the counter, hunched over the keyboard as he eyes flicked between the screen and the stack of papers in her other hand.

Her raven black curls were pulled back into a loose pony tail, a few breaking loose of the tie to frame her face. She looked tired: her chocolate brown eyes were shadowed and her usually-glowing skin seemed more dull than usual. It was the emotional stress of seeing her best friend raced back and forth between intensive care and the operation room.

But somehow, she still looked beautiful. She smiled sweetly at the boys as they walked over to the counter.

“It’s from him,” Stiles confirmed, lifting the boxes of takeout onto the counter. “With love.”

“Thank you,” Melissa replied, taking the bag and setting it down on the other side of the bench.

She opened her mouth to say something when an announcement over the speaker interrupted her.

“Melissa McCall to room 114.”

“That’s my dad’s room,” Stiles gasped.

Melissa stopped the boy before he could run down the hall.

“Stiles,” she said firmly. “Stay here.”

She turned and hurried down the hallway.

Stiles didn’t have to follow to see what happened next. Scott held onto his arms – holding him back – as the boy’s father was wheeled out of his room on a gurney. A bunch of medical staff hovered around him, holding the IV upright and rushing him into the operating room for emergency surgery.

Stiles fell to his knees.

He felt numb, too exhausted to cry and too broken to speak.

Scott helped his friend up off of the ground and carried him over to a nearby chair. He sat next to Stiles and pulled him into his arms.

“I can’t lose him,” Stiles whispered over and over again.

Glistening tears rolled down Stiles’ mole-speckled cheeks.

It felt like an eternity before Melissa made her way back out into the foyer. She had changed, her new scrubs clear of any blood. She crouched before the boys.

“His sutures burst again,” she explained. “He was bleeding internally and it’s pretty severe. With a wound so close to his heart…” Her lips trembled and her eyes sparkled with tears. “Stiles, things are looking grim for him. He’s been wheeled into surgery five times this week. You need to brace yourself for the possibility that he might not survive this, because I don’t know how much longer he can keep fighting.”

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut. The tears that streaked his vision fell down his soft cheeks.

Melissa leant forward and pulled the boy into her arms.

The boy clawed at her clothes, balling the soft fabric of her scrubs into his weak fists as he sobbed against her shoulder.

When he settled again, Melissa sat him back in his chair. She tried to straighten his ruffled hair but to no avail.

“You can stay at our place tonight,” she told him.

Stiles nodded.

Melissa reluctantly stepped back, joining one of the doctors as he explained John’s condition to her and what they were going to do.

“Come on,” Scott whispered. “Let’s go.”

He helped Stiles to his feet and walked him back to the door. The boy tried to listen to the conversation but only caught a fragments of the man’s words.

“Still unstable… keeping him in intensive care… a week at best.”

Stiles felt another wave of tears prickle his eyes as he climbed into Melissa’s four-wheel drive and slumped down in the passenger seat.

Scott climbed in and started the car. The rumble of the engine rolled through Stiles’ empty chest.

“I want to go home,” Stiles whispered.                     

“Stiles,” Scott started slowly.

“Scott, please,” Stiles begged, his voice strained as he fought off his tears. “I want to go home.”

Scott let out a disheartened sigh as he flicked his indicator and turned toward the Stilinski house.

They drove in silence the rest of the way.

Scott pulled up before the house.

“Are you going to be okay?” Scott asked, worried.

Stiles didn’t reply.

“Hey, you’re not alone,” Scott promised. “You can call me any time and I’ll be here in minutes. You’re welcome at our place any time.”

Stiles nodded.

“I’m here for you.”

“Thanks,” Stiles rasped.

He tugged the car door open and stumbled out onto the curb. He made his way up to the front door and unlocked it. He waved to Scott and watched as his friend drove off. He shut the door and locked it before tossing his keys onto the small table by the door.

He stared into the dark abyss of the house. He knew every inch of his house, but somehow it seemed empty and cold without his father.

He dragged his feet to the open archway that lead into the dining room and tossed the wad of cash Peter had paid him onto the table next to the stack of bills.

He trudged upstairs. He felt numb as he strolled past his bedroom and pushed open to door to his father’s room – the door left off the latch when John had rushed to work that dreadful day. He walked forward until his shins hit the bed. He climbed atop of the mattress and curled up on his father’s bed like he used to when he was younger.

He stopped fighting the tears, feeling the warm droplets roll across the bridge of his nose. He heard them strike the pillows, quietly thudding against the cotton before seeping into the soft fibres.

He inhaled the musky scent left behind by his father, felling strange sense of comforting warmth as he cried himself to sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

Stiles stared blankly at the small lettering of his science textbook.

Melissa had called him this morning to tell him that his dad was in a stable condition and she would call him as soon as John woke up, but the wait was agony.

He tried desperately to distract himself.

When his phone buzzed, he tossed his books and papers about to snatch the device off of the desk.

He exhaled heavily when the screen lit up with Danny’s name.

He unlocked the phone and read the text:

 

DANNY MAHEALANI:

Hey Stiles.

How’s your science project going?

 

Stiles sat back in his chair and let himself smile as he typed out a response, ‘Struggling. Could use help or a break. You?”

A minute later, his phone buzzed.

 

DANNY MAHEALANI:

You read my mind.

If you want, you can drop by and we can work together.

 

Stiles chuckled to himself and typed out, ‘Is studying all you have in mind?’

Stiles set his phone down and began to stack up his text books, worksheets, note books and other materials. He slid them into his backpack and picked up his phone again, reading Danny’s reply.

 

DANNY MAHEALANI:

Study first and then we’ll see.

 

Stiles sent back a reply that he would be there in a few minutes and slid his phone into his pocket. He swung his bag onto his shoulder and hurried downstairs. He collected his keys, the metallic keychain tinkled as he rattled the locks open. He locked the door behind himself and tossed his bag into his Jeep.

He made his way over to Danny’s house and knocked at the door.

Danny answered with a kind smile, letting Stiles in.

Stiles hadn’t been to Danny’s house before, and so stuck to the larger boy’s shadow as Danny escorted Stiles up to his room.

“Did you get your grade back for your English paper?” Danny asked. He pushed open his bedroom door and let Stiles into the room.

“Yeah, I got a B, which is way better than my average grades,” Stiles replied. “How did you do?”

“I got an A,” Danny said with a hint of sorrow in his voice, as if he were worried that it would offend Stiles in some way.

“An A?” Stiles queried. He turned to face Danny, taking a step closer to the boy. “I’d say that’s worthy of a reward.”

“I thought we agreed on studying,” Danny reminded him.

“I thought I made it clear that I need a distraction,” Stiles whispered sultrily, sauntering up to Danny’s side and pushing him back against his bedroom door.

The corner of Danny’s mouth quirked up in a smile. “What did you have in mind?”

Stiles ran his hands down Danny’s chest, feeling the rippling muscles through his tight shirt. His fingertips brushed against the waistline of Danny’s pants.

“How about you sit back and let me reward you?”

Danny smiled. He cupped Stiles’ cheeks and brought their lips together.

Stiles hummed contently against the warmth of Danny’s lips and the older boy melted into the kiss.

Danny’s firm hands instinctively fell into place, one on the boy’s slender hip – gently caressing the protruding bone – and the other at the base of Stiles’ skull, his fingers woven through his soft chestnut locks. He tilted his head and deepened the kiss.

The older boy’s lips were so tender and inviting that Stiles lost himself in the bliss of his embrace and passionate kiss.

Stiles reluctantly pulled back from the kiss. He sank to his knees and gently tugged at the waistline of Danny’s jeans, running kisses across the patch exposed flesh between his shirt and his pants.

“Can I?” Stiles whispered.

All it took was a nod before Stiles eagerly pounced on the opportunity. He mouthed at the denim that covered Danny’s bulge. He eagerly undid Danny’s jeans and slid them down to his knees, exposing the gorgeous olive skin that covered his firm thighs. He continued to mouth at Danny’s cock through the soft cotton of his boxers as he slid his hands up the older boy’s thighs. He gently massaged the muscles, caressing the soft flesh. He hooked his fingers under the elastic waistband and pulled Danny’s boxers down too, freeing his cock.

Stiles pressed kisses to the boy’s impressive length.

He took Danny’s length in his mouth, listening to the man hiss and moan as he rolled his tongue around the head of his throbbing erection.

Danny ran his fingers through Stiles’ hair, gently brushing his ruffled locks away from the boy’s face. His tender touch spurred the boy on. Stiles arched to his touch, moving his head to follow Danny’s hands and whimpering against the head of his cock.

Danny’s hips instinctively bucked towards Stiles’ mouth, his movements restricted by what little control he maintained.

Stiles hummed, Danny’s tender touches spurring him on. The vibrations of his purr made Danny moan, biting down into his lips in order to control his rugged cries.

Danny looked down at him and panted, “Stiles.”

Stiles stopped and looked up at him, his eyes as sweet as caramel as he met Danny’s gaze.

Danny gently stoked Stiles’ soft cheek. “You know you don’t have to-”

Stiles smiled sweetly. “I want to.”

Without warning, he sunk down over Danny’s impressive length, taking him into his throat.

Danny threw his head back against the door, crying out.

Stiles sucked him off, moving his mouth up and down his impressive length.

Stiles drew back, running his tongue up the underside of Danny’s cock, pressing a sloppy, open-mouth kiss against the ridge.

He palmed at Danny’s balls and caressed his thighs and soft ass as he took his length back in his mouth. He sank down over Danny and sucked hard.

Danny cried out, legs tensing as he drew close to his climax.

Danny cupped the back of Stiles’ head, encouraging him but not forcing him.

Stiles took the hint and took Danny’s length in his mouth, taking his delicious, thick cock all the way into his throat. Stiles sucked hard, moving his head quickly. He pulled back, swirling his tongue around the head of Danny’s dick, lapping at the tip and eliciting broken cried from the man.

Stiles turned his chestnut brown eyes up to the man, watching as he threw his head back against the door again, moaning incomprehensibly. His mouth hung open, his breathing broken and shaking his lips. His dark eyes were glazed with lust as Stiles sank down over him again and he came.

Stiles stayed there, milking Danny for all he had before drawing back. He pressed soft kisses against Danny’s shaft, letting him ride out his orgasm before he sat back in the seat.

He swallowed hard and licked at the beads of come that dripped from his lips.

Danny breathed in deeply, trying to steady his breathing as his legs trembled slightly.

Stiles helped him over to the bed and laid him down.

“No more,” Danny whispered. “Not today.”

“Okay,” Stiles complied.

“It’s not that I didn’t like it,” Danny added quickly, scared he had offended the boy. “I mean, it was really good, _really_ good. I just don’t feel like going any further today.”

“Danny, it’s okay,” Stiles assured him. “Besides, we do actually have to study.”

He helped Danny wrestle his boxers and jeans back up to his hips.

Danny patted at the mattress beside him, looking pleadingly up at the boy. Stiles crawled onto the bed and laid next to him.

“If you were a few years older, I would have dated the hell out of you,” Danny muttered.

Stiles sighed. “Nah, you deserve better than me.”

Danny craned his neck to look at Stiles. “Is everything okay?”

“There’s just so much going on and I’m struggling to keep my head above water,” Stiles admitted.

“If you need money, I can loan you some or pay you more.”

“It’s not about money,” Stiles assured him. He stared up at the ceiling, feeling empty and cold. “The worst thing is I’m keeping everything a secret from Scott. I need my best friend more than ever right now but I can’t even look him in the eye.” He felt hot tears brew in his eyes. “And my dad has a week left to live.”

Danny rolled onto his side and pulled Stiles into his arms. He held the boy close, not flinching when Stiles’ shoulders trembled as he sobbed against Danny’s chest.

Stiles knew Danny was lost for words - - what was saying ‘I’m sorry’ going to do to help him?


	10. Chapter 10

Warm hands trailed up Stiles’ sides, fingers running across the ridges of his ribs, up his chest and along his biceps, pinning his arms above his head. Soft lips latched onto his throat, gently kissing and sucking at the pale skin. Smooth teeth gently grazed his jugular, nipping at the flesh as they made his way up to his jaw. The warm breath made him shiver as it rolled across his freckled skin. The soft kisses returned, trailing along his jaw and seeking out the scattered moles on his face. He sighed heavily, gasping as their hips ground against each other. He dug his nails into the firm bicep, eliciting a low growl from the man as he buckled his hips in response.

“More,” he gasped, crotch throbbing.

“Stiles,” a familiar voice groaned. Soft lips latched onto his earlobe, making him hiss and gasp. His hips arched off the mattress only to be thrust back down among the sheets by a firm hand.

Stiles flipped him over, sliding down to his waist.

He licked his lips eagerly and took the man’s impressive length in his mouth. He hummed contently as he sank down over that delicious cock. He moved his head up and down that throbbing erection, tasting the salty precome that liberally dribbled from the head of the man’s cock.

He couldn’t help by moan, needily taking more and more of the man’s length with every movement.

The man’s breath hissed through his teeth as the vibrations spurred him on. He threaded his hands through Stiles’ unkempt hair.

His touch was a tender caress as he massaged the boy’s scalp and ran the soft chestnut locks though his slender fingers.

It was a sensory overload for both of them, but God it felt good.

The gentle hands encouraged him to pull back. His warm touch ran across the boy’s flesh as he guided him back against the mattress. He trailed kisses across Stiles’ frail limbs, gently rolling him onto his front.

“Arch your back,” the husky voice instructed. Warm hands slid up the boy’s sides and across his abs, sinking into the seams of Stiles’ muscles.

The man nuzzled his face into the curve of the boy’s neck, littering it with kisses. He let out a hum of admiration, the vibrations making Stiles’ crotch ache as the man was delighted by the feeling of the boys muscles flexing beneath Stiles’ soft flesh.

Stiles smirked, glad that he could still surprise the man. Even though Stiles didn’t have much muscle, the man was still surprised by just how much muscle mass the scrawny, flailing boy actually had. And, God, he loved those muscles, he loved lying Stiles on his back and tenderly caressing the boy’s abs, letting his fingers fit into the seams and drag down the boy’s beltline. Stiles loved how the tender touches and littered kisses would tease him, make his stomach knot and crotch throb, and leave him shivering.

The man ran his hands down to Stiles’ hips, lifting his ass up off of the bed and lining his rigid cock up with the boy’s entrance. He gently eased into Stiles, letting the boy adjust to the intrusion.

Stiles couldn’t help but moan.

The man’s dick was so thick and filled him so well. He clawed at the sheets breathing deeply as the man began to roll his hips with slow, steady thrusts. He braced his hands on the boy’s hips encouraging him to thrust back over the man’s pulsing length.

Stiles let out rugged, animalistic cries and moans.

The man’s warm lips drew back to whisper sweet nothings in the boy’s ear, muttering about how good he felt and how much he loved the sounds Stiles made.

Stiles moaned, longing for more. He whimpered a name: the name that seemed to fall from his lips so naturally – the very sound of it enough to flutter the boy’s heart. But just this once, he seemed to choke on the name, the sound catching in the back of his throat as he whimpered impatiently.

“Shhh, don’t worry; I’ll treat you to whatever you want,” the man promised, his soft whisper rolling across Stiles’ warm flesh. “Just say the word.”

“More,” Stiles begged. “More.”

The man obliged, bucking his hips and slamming into the boy hard enough to make him cry out.

Stiles let out a sensual whine and the name fell past his lips.

“Derek.”

Stiles jerked awake, tossing aside the sheets as he leapt out of his bed.

He span around in circles and quickly searched the space of his bedroom, checking ever shadow and crevice.

Yep, his bed. His room. And no Derek.

Stiles let out a slow sigh of relief.

He walked back to the edge of the bed and slumped down on the mattress. He hung his head in his hands and drew in heavy breaths, his hands trembled slightly as a low-key panic set in. His mind reeled through a hundred thoughts at once: scolding himself for dreaming of Derek, cursing himself for having an _erotic_ dream about Derek, and running through all the conversations he had ever had with Lydia about psychoanalysing dreams, the subconscious and Freudian theory.

Stiles groaned at himself, cursing himself for being so stupid.

He quickly grabbed his phone off of the shelving above his bed and typed a message to Lydia: ‘Need to talk. Got time?’

He sighed and stripped off his sweat-soaked pyjamas. He tossed them into the collective pile in the corner of the room, making a mental note that he should wash them.

He dressed himself, wrestling his limbs into a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt. He shuffled about until they sat comfortably then collected his dirty clothes and carried them into the laundry. He tossed them in the machine and set it off, the gushing water loud enough to rumble his chest.

He made his way downstairs and foraged through the cupboard and the fridge for anything that was edible, tossing out mouldy bread, spoilt milk, and a Tupperware container full of what once was creamy pasta, but was now a distorted mess of orange, green and black. Stiles gagged as he tipped it into the bin and tossed the container into the sink, submerging it beneath water.

He had lost his appetite, deciding to go upstairs and make an attempt at his homework. Stiles made it to the bottom or the stairs when he felt his phone buzz against his thigh.

He pulled it out, unlocked it and read the message.

 

LYDIA:

My mum is heading out for a few house if you want to come over.

Allison and I made cookies yesterday, you’ve got to try them!

Unless you need to talk right now, in which case just call me.

 

Stiles sent back a quick message telling her it’s not that urgent and that he’ll be there in about twenty minutes.

He tucked the phone away in his pocket and collected up his car keys.

The washing would take another hour or so to complete the full wash, and it could wait until he got home to be hung out to dry.

He shut the front door behind him and locked it, making his way across that overgrown grass of the front lawn and clambering into his Jeep.

The car’s engine coughed and sputtered, gears grinding painfully. Stiles shut it off for a moment, thumping his hands against the steering wheel.

“Not now,” he growled, turning the key again.

The Jeep’s engine sputtered to life.

Stiles sighed and drove down the street.

 

He pulled up to the curb and turned off the engine. He stepped out onto the sidewalk and locked the car before pocketing his keys. He made his way up the small footpath, stepped up onto the narrow balcony and stopped at the front door. He knocked the doorknock against the metal plating.

He only had to wait a few seconds before Lydia opened the door. She ushered him in with a radiant smile. But as soon as Stiles was out of the shadows of the balcony, that smile faded.

“When was the last time you ate?” Lydia asked, looking the boy up and down.

“This morning,” Stiles lied.

“Stiles,” Lydia warned, narrowing her bright green eyes on the boy.

“Two days,” Stiles confessed. “Maybe three.”

“Oh, Stiles,” Lydia whispered solemnly. She snatched up his hand and guided him into the kitchen.

Stiles was too weak to fight back or object, and he still trying to figure out what he wanted and how he was going to ask Lydia for it.

Lydia sat Stiles down at the small table and pushed the plate full of cookies – the ones that she and Allison had made together – towards the boy. Stiles took one from the pile with a kind smile, nibbling at it.

“So, what do you want? Thai? Pizza? Burgers? Fries?” she asked. “I’ll shout.”

“I didn’t come here to be a charity case, Lydia.”

Lydia turned on him.

“No,” she replied. “But you obviously haven’t been taking care of yourself.”

“I came here to talk,” Stiles told her.

“Just talk?” Lydia asked.

“For now,” Stiles replied with a smile.

Lydia sat down across the table from him. She picked up a cookie and broke it apart into smaller pieces to eat them. “What do you want to talk about?”

“These are good,” Stiles said around a mouthful of sweet crumbs. He picked up another cookie and began to nibble at it.

“Stiles,” Lydia said warningly.

“So what was Allison doing over here yesterday, I thought it was her and Scott’s date night yesterday?” Stiles asked, skirting around the real questions until he worked out how to word them.

“It was meant to be, but things are a bit cold between them at the moment.”

“Cold?” Stiles asked, trying not to spit out the cookie crumbs.

“Allison might have feelings for other people and she’s getting the same vibe from Scott,” Lydia explained. “Neither of them want to give up on their relationship and neither would cheat on the other, but it’s causing problems between them.”

“Yeah, Scott told me his half of the story, but I was out of it at the time,” Stiles admitted.

“Stiles,” Lydia said firmly. “What’s the real reason you came here?”

Stiles inhaled deeply and confessed, “I had a… weird dream.”

Lydia lifted her brow quizzically, prompting Stiles to continue.

Stiles sighed. Might as well come out completely. “I had an erotic dream about…” He swallowed hard. “About Derek.”

Lydia looked at him, aghast. “Derek? As in Derek Hale?”

Stiles nodded. “The thing is, I don’t know why because ever since he got back in town all we’ve done is fight.”

“He’s back?”

“Yes, but that’s not the point.” Stiles fiddled with his fingers. “Why Derek?”

“Dreams are a place for subconscious thoughts, so there are multiple interpretations. Maybe you thought of Derek because he’s always been a strong and dependable figure for you and you just want that in your sex life right now – not quick flings that lack romance. Or maybe you have a thing for alphas - so maybe Derek was a symbol for Scott?”

“No,” Stiles objected. “Not Scott. Friends, nothing more.”

“Maybe you like him.”

Stiles didn’t object.

“You like him, don’t you?” Lydia asked.

“I don’t know,” Stiles replied. “Maybe. And if I do, so what? It’s not like I can just walk up to the guy I’ve been fighting with for the past month and just say ‘hey, by the way, I had a dream about having sex with you and I might actually like you’. I don’t see that going well.”

“How good was it?” Lydia pursued.

“I know it wasn’t real, but _God_ was it good.”

Lydia levelled her eyes with the boy, raising her brow.

Stiles sighed. His shoulders sagged as he realised exactly what it all meant.

“I can’t deal with this right now,” Stiles muttered. “I’m still mad at him for abandoning us and running off to Mexico. And on top of that I’m behind on the mortgage, struggling to pay the bills, I have no food in the house, and my dad…”

“Is something wrong with your dad?” Lydia asked, worried.

“He doesn’t have long to live,” Stiles finished. “Don’t,” he quickly interjected. “I don’t want to hear that you’re sorry or that you wish there was something you could do because right now I can’t take it, I _hate_ hearing people say it. I don’t need pity or sympathy, I just need something to distract me from all this mess.”

Lydia nodded in agreement.

“I could use a distraction too,” she said.

Lydia loved that word.

Ever since what happened with Jackson, Lydia didn’t want to commit herself to another relationship. She didn’t want a boyfriend, she wanted a distraction.

And Stiles was happy to oblige. He liked spending time with Lydia; she was a friend that he could talk to but at the same time – when things got more sexual – she was a perfect mix of Peter’s dominance and Danny’s tenderness: like Isaac but without the Scott-related issues.

“You want me to work for my food?” Stiles asked, waving the cookie about.

“If you want,” Lydia replied. “I’d be willing to pay extra if you tease.”

“It’s going to be hard to match your level, but I can try,” Stile agreed.

“Bedroom,” Lydia instructed. “Close the curtains and turn on some music.”

Stiles obeyed. He made his way upstairs into the lavish bedroom. He drew shut the heavy plumb curtains shut and turned on the iPod speakers on Lydia’s dresser. He scrolled through the songs until he found the playlist she usually played for such times.

Stiles leant by the wall and waited for Lydia to join him.

He didn’t have to wait long.

As soon as she stepped into the room, Stiles pushed to door shut, snatched up her wrist and pinned her back against the wooden panel. He pressed his hips against hers, keeping her still as his hands slid down her sides, caressed her thighs and slid beneath the rippling fabric of her skirt.

Lydia hummed against his lips as her arms slid up Stiles’ chest. She looped her arms around Stiles’ neck, dragging her nails up his shoulder blades and balling the soft cotton of his shirt into her hands.

Stiles slid his hands up Lydia’s thighs, hoisting her up and pinning her back against the wall.

Lydia hooked her legs around his waist, grinding her hips against Stiles to urge him on.

Within seconds, the kiss grew from passionate to savage.

Stiles wound his hand around Lydia’s waist and pulled her close, holding her warm body against his chest.

She ran her tongue across Stiles’ bottom lip and moaned as Stiles obediently opened his mouth to welcome Lydia’s tongue. He lifted one hand up to the back of her head, lacing his fingers through her gorgeous copper hair and tilting his head as he pushed back and dominated her mouth with his tongue.

Lydia moaned, rolling her hips against Stiles.

Stiles sighed and moaned in return.

Stiles steadied his hand around her waist, supporting her weight and carrying her over to the bed. He laid her down against the mattress and made quick work of her clothes, unbuttoning her blouse and tearing open the fabric to reveal the black lace of her bra.

Lydia let out a delighted gasp, bucking her hips up to meet Stiles’.

Stiles ran one hand up her thigh, caressing the warm flesh as he pulled away from her lips and trailed kisses down her throat. Stiles felt her shudder and gasp as she arched towards his touch.

He kissed her lightly, leaving faint traces of kisses across the golden skin of her jaw, neck and collarbone. He ran his lips into the dip of her collarbone, staying there to suck and nip at the delicious exposed flesh, eliciting soft moans and needy whimpers from the girl.

He slid his hands up her thighs, creeping up to her hips and relieving her of her underwear. He slid the thin, lacy panties down her thighs and off her legs before tossing them aside. He rested his hands back on her sculpted thighs, caressing the warm flesh as he trailed his kisses down her abdomen. He pushed up the soft fabric of Lydia’s skirt. He craned his neck and ran his lips down the inside of her leg, feeling her shiver as he left ghostly trails of faint kisses across her skin.

“Spread your legs,” he whispered, urging her movements with his careful touch.

She complied, the muscles in her thighs trembling as she presented herself to Stiles.

Stiles grabbed her hips and pulled her forward, lapping at her clit until she cried out. He sat her back and whispered, “Like that?”

“God, yes,” Lydia gasped.

Stiles smirked and nodded, lowering himself to the mattress and devouring her. He lost himself to instinct; the warmth of Lydia on his lips, the sound of her muffled cries and euphoric moans as she uttered Stiles’ name, the smell of her body – flesh covered in the sweet aromas of perfumes and soaps, but overcome by her delicious natural scent – were testing his limits. His hands trembled and his cock ached, begging for him to jerk himself off.

But he didn’t.

He relished in the throbbing pain and letting his need for relief drive him further.

He lapped at Lydia’s entrance and dragged his tongue up to her clit. He flicked his tongue across the swollen bead, enticing savage cried from the girl before lowering his mouth over it and sucking, swirling his tongue around the bundle of nerves and driving her mad.

Lydia cried out, her hips buckling off of the mattress and towards Stiles’ mouth. She clawed at the sheets with one hand, the other reaching down and grabbing a fistful of Stiles’ hair.

Stiles hummed against her, the sensation of her nails dragging across his scalp and the gentle tug at his hair spurring him on. The vibrations made her moan more, her legs kicking about helplessly. He slid his hands up her thighs and to her hips, pulling her closer to him.

Stiles pulled back a little, running his tongue down to her entrance where he lapped at the tight muscles. He toyed with her, teasing her open and thrusting his tongue inside of her.

Lydia bit into the back of her hand as Stiles dragged his tongue upwards before swirling it in torturous circles and sucking at her clit.

Stiles let out a needy whine, keeping his mouth on Lydia’s clit as he teased her open with his slender fingers.

Lydia was a mess of rugged moans, needy whimpers and erotic cries.

“Stiles, I’m gonna-“ Her words were broken by gasps as air eluded her. “I’m gonna-“

She let out a rugged cry, arching off of the bed as he legs trembled and she came.

Stiles slowly pulled back. He leveled his eyes with her and raised his brow quizzically.

Lydia smirked and nodded. She rolled onto her side and reached for the draws of her bedside table. Her elegant hands trembled as she fumbled through her dresser draws. Finally, she found what she was looking for. She pulled out the foil packet and passed it to Stiles.

He took it with a smile, holding it between his teeth as he stripped his clothes.

Lydia helped him, he hands caressing his chest and sides as he pulled his shirt off over his head.

While he was occupied with tearing the packet open and rolling the condom onto his rigid length, she slid her skirt off and unfastened her bra.

Stiles settled between her legs, sitting her in his lap as he lined himself up with her entrance and slowly sank into her.

Lydia cried out.

“You okay?” Stiles asked.

“Yeah,” Lydia sighed. “Just… a little sensitive.”

“Do you want to stop?”

Lydia offered him a sweet smile. “No, I just… need a moment. You’re always bigger than I expect.”

“I’m offended,” Stiles scoffed lightheartedly.

Lydia chuckled breathlessly, whispering, “I meant it as a compliment.”

Stiles leant forward and brought their lips together again. This kiss was more tender than the others, but no less passionate. He took it slow, letting Lydia melt into his warmth. He cupped her cheek with one hand, gently stroking her pale cheek. He felt her soft whimpers of content hum against his lips.

He broke away and trailed soft kisses across his jaw, down the taut muscles of her throat and down to Lydia’s flushed pink nipples. He swirled his tongue around the firm nipple, eliciting a broken moan from the girl. He tortured her, using his free hand to toy with his other nipple and knead at her breast as he gently nipped and sucked at the one in his mouth.

Lydia moaned, her nails dragging at the sheets and her insides tightening around Stiles’ erection. Stiles felt his cock twitch, liberally dribbling precome into the condom. Stiles rolled his hips, shallowly thrusting into Lydia, but stirring enough that she pushed her hips back and urged him on.

“Let me ride you.” Lydia purred.

Stiles hummed contently. He braced his free hand against Lydia’s hip and rolled them over. He laid back against the sheets, gently caressing her hip as he set her atop his lap.

She sat upright and took him slowly, letting out a euphoric moan as he penetrated her. She sat still for a second, getting used to the penetrating length inside of her.

“Oh God,” Lydia gasped.

Stiles sat upright, licking his lips as he nipped at her throat and fondled her breast.

Lydia rested her hands against Stiles’ bare chest, pushing him back against the bed. She leveled her gaze with him, her eyes dark with lust as she shook her head.

Stiles sighed and sank back into her pillows.

Slowly she began to move, rolling her hips and rocking back onto Stiles’ cock. She let out short erotic whimpers and broken gasps thrust down over Stiles’ length.

Lydia leant back, bracing herself against Stiles’ firm thighs as she moved faster and faster.

Stiles moaned at the warmth and the tension that dragged at his length.

Lydia raised herself up on her knees until only the head of Stiles’ cock was still inside her, then sank down over him again with a broken moan. She repeated the action, a bit faster, settling into a steady rhythm.

Stiles’ hands settled on the curves of Lydia’s hips, steadying her and pulling her down further onto his dick – not that she needed much help.

Lydia was making helpless cries with every thrust: rugged moans, broken gasps, strangled whimpers and stammered words as she breathlessly begged for more.

She picked up the pace, relentlessly rising up and slamming down over Stiles’ dick with muffled cries. The sounds made Stiles growl, his fingers digging into her flesh and his hips jerking up to meet her trusts.

Stiles ran his hands up to her breasts, groping the soft tissue.

“Spread your legs and let me see,” Stiles instructed.

Lydia did so, reaching down between her legs to rub at her clit.

She loved being dirty, making a show of how well she could fuck or be fucked.

Stiles watched with awe as she rose up and dropped down over his cock, consuming him.

Lydia’s erotic moans were strangled into broken gasps as she grew closer and closer to her second orgasm. The muscles in her toned legs began to tremble and her pace began to sputter.

An animalistic growl rose out of Stiles’ chest.

Stiles thrust up into her, faster and harder.

Lydia gasped and whimpered, her hips jerking as if she was unsure of whether to thrust against her own hand or back against Stiles’ penetrating cock.

He sat upright and sucked at Lydia’s exposed throat, tasting the delicious salty sweat that covered her flesh.

“I know you can move faster than that,” he huffed against the smooth which covered her collarbone.

Lydia let out an inarticulate whine.

“Come on, baby. I want to see you fuck me harder,” Stiles encouraged, laying back against the sheets. “I want to see you ride my cock with your tight pussy.”

Lydia moaned, her limbs trembling.

Stiles ran his hands up to her waist, holding her upright slightly as he rapidly thrust into her, moving faster and faster.

Lydia came with a savage cry.

Before Stiles had a chance to climax and find relief, Lydia climbed off of him. She crept down the bed and positioned herself over Stiles’ painfully hard cock.

She bundled her hair into her hands and held it back as she pulled the condom off of Stiles’ dick and sucked at his come-slick shaft. She let out a satisfied moan as spurts of salty semen dribbled onto her tongue. She drew back and ran her tongue around the head of Stiles’ cock.

She felt Stiles’ cock twitch and stiffen in his mouth as he sucked at the boy’s painful erection.

Stiles gasped and groaned, her soft purrs driving him further over the edge. His heels dug into the mattress, his stomach knotting as he grew closer and closer to his climax.

“Lydia,” he gasped.

She lifted her bright green eyes to him, meeting his gaze and making a show of blowing him. She drew her lips up to the head of his cock, swirling her tongue in torturous circles before sinking down and devouring his length.

He kicked his heels against the bed, flailing about uselessly.

He was at her mercy and begging for more.

Lydia sank down over Stiles’ length, looking up at him with shimmering jade eyes as Stiles’ come spilled down her throat. She drew back slowly, milking Stiles for all he had. She pulled back and swallowed, licking at the trail of come that dripped from her lips.

Stiles sank back into the soft embrace of the mattress, letting the pillows support his head as he drew in rugged breaths.

Lydia crept forward, curling up against his chest.

Stiles wound his arms around her shoulders, nestling his face into her ruffled copper locks.

“I used to have a crush on you,” Stiles admitted, panting for breath. “I used to be obsessed with you.”

“And now you feel that way about Derek,” Lydia pointed out.

Stiles sighed. “If only it was that easy.”

Lydia snuggled closer into his warmth. That was her apology, the only thing she could do to comfort him.

He knew she felt helpless, he did too. But there was no other way that she could help him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be the last chapter of smut for a while, from here on it's feels and angst.   
> You have been warned.


	11. Chapter 11

Stiles flinched as his phone rang.

Scott’s name flashed across the screen. He glanced over at the alarm clock that sat above his bed. The bright red numbers flashed 6:30. He usually took to the streets in half an hour.

Stiles sighed as he picked it up off of the table.

“What’s up?” Stiles answered the call.

“You’re a genius,” Scott blurted out.

“I keep telling you that, but no-one seems to believe me,” Stiles muttered. “So be specific and remember to tell me how much you love me.”

He could almost hear Scott roll his eyes.

“I talked to Allison,” Scott explained. “And it turns out we were both thinking the same thing. So we talked to Isaac and well, we’re together now. All three of us.”

“Took you long enough,” Stiles muttered.

“I just thought I’d give you some prior warning so you don’t freak out if you see Isaac kissing Allison, or me, or both of us, or-“

“Too much information, man,” Stiles interjected. He glanced over at the clock again. “Dude, I’ve got to go. I’m glad things worked out.”

“Yeah,” Scott muttered. “And Stiles?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re the best and I love you,” Scott said as if it were rehearsed.

Stiles chuckled. “I am the best, and I love you too, man. I’ll talk to you later."

“Later,” Scott farewelled before hanging up.

Stiles sighed and slumped back against his desk chair.

He had finished his homework a little while ago and had nothing better to do, so he cleared his desk and quickly showered. He changed his clothes, dressing in a pale grey tee-shirt and a pair of tight jeans. He pocketed his phones and his keys, making his way out of the house and locking the door behind him. He took to the streets. He buried his hands in his pockets and made his way across the town.

It wasn’t long before a faded blue car pulled up beside him. The window wound down and a young man craned his neck to look at Stiles.

“You Stiles?” he asked.

Stiles turned, amazed by the man’s gorgeous jade eyes.

“Yeah,” he replied. “What’s it to you?”

“A friend said that I could come to you for – uh – certain services,” the young man said shyly.

“Is that so?”

“I mean, uh…” the young man stammered. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and bit into his lip before lifting his gaze to meet Stiles’. “Let me start again. I’m Jordan. I’m coming off a bad relationship and not looking for another, just some relief of certain… needs cravings, urges."

Stiles thought it over for a second. He sighed and stepped over to the car.

Jordan reached across and opened the door for him.

Stiles slid into the passenger seat and Jordan rolled the window up.

“I’m just going to park around the corner, it’s a little more private there,” Jordan explained as he drove down the street.

“You haven’t done this before, have you?” Stiles asked.

Jordan sighed and bit into his lips. He shook his head.

“No, I haven’t,” he admitted.

“A good looking guy like you probably never had to,” Stiles whispered. He turned in his seat and waited for Jordan to park the car before he leant forward and kissed the man’s cheek. “You don’t have to be nervous. I'll take good care of you."

Jordan swallowed hard and smiled at the boy.

Stiles leant forward and brought their lips together in a tender kiss.

He took it slow, letting Jordan melt into the warmth of his kiss. He cupped Jordan’s cheek with one hand, gently stroking his soft cheek. He felt Jordan sigh and relax. He lowered his hand to the man’s neck, feeling his pounding pulse. He drew back from Jordan’s lips and trailed soft kisses across his jaw, and down his throat.

He felt the vibrations of Jordan’s hum against his lips, dragging them back up to meet Jordan’s.

Jordan pulled back for a second and whispered, “One more thing.”

“Hmm?”

Jordan reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a shiny badge.

“Stiles Stilinski, you under arrest for solicitation and underage prostitution.”

Stiles sighed and sank back in his seat. He didn’t fight it, didn’t try and run or get out of the car. He almost felt like laughing when Jordan locked the doors. But he didn’t hear the man’s voice as he continued to read the boy his rights.

_This is it_ , Stiles thought to himself. _This is my punishment_.

 

He was seated in the interrogation room of the Beacon Hills precinct. He was handcuffed to the table, and it almost made him laugh at the fact that they thought considered him a threat or likely-to-run.

He tapped his fingers on the table top, ignoring the presence of people who were sure to be watching him from the other side of the one-way mirror.

He had been there for at least half an hour before the deputy finally joined him.

“Stiles,” Jordan greeted nonchalantly.

“Deputy Parrish,” Stiles spat viciously.

Parrish pulled the small metal seat back across the polished concrete floor. He sat down across from stiles and set a file down on the tabletop.

“You’ve been arrested on charges or solicitation and the prostitution of a minor,” Parris said bluntly. “Is there anything you wish to say?”

“Many things,” Stiles replied.

“I’m listening,” Parrish prompted.

“Firstly, the last time I was in a pair of these-“ Stiles lifted his hands and showed off the handcuffs. “- it was a much more pleasant experience. Secondly, you look ridiculous in that uniform: like a kid dressing up like daddy. And thirdly, as a minor, you cannot question me without the presence of a parent or legal guardian, and considering my only living parent in intensive care at Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital, you have no right to pursue questioning. Not to mention the fact that I did not, at any point in time, ask for or receive payment, so your charges have no grounds.”

“So you got in the car because you simply felt like it?”

“You gave me a sob story and I’m an easily persuaded, hormonally fuelled teenage boy.”

“Stiles, I don’t want to insult your intelligence, and I’m well aware that you know a lot about the law and its practices, so let’s make this easy,” the man tried. “Do you or have you ever accepted money in exchange for sexual favours?”

“I’m not answering that,” Stiles replied.

“Because you have something to hide?” the man pressed.

“Because you cannot question me without my father present.”

“Stiles, you are facing severe charges. You can be sentenced with at least a year’s jail time, only six months of which you will spend on a juvenile facility, because on your eighteenth birthday you will be moved to a state prison, and what do you think the inmates there will do to someone like you?”

Stiles levelled his eyes with the man and nonchalantly replied, “Then it’s a good thing I like taking it.”

 

Jordan left him alone in that boring, bland room for what felt like hours.

In that time, he had memorised every detail of that room: the chafing of the metal bar his handcuffs were chained to, the scrapes on the polished floors where the chairs had been dragged back and forth, the chips in the edge of the table and the coffee stain across from him, the cobweb in the corner of the room, and the insistent blinking of the light on the camera that was driving him mad.

His brain was lulled by the boredom, making it difficult to blink his heavy eyes open.

He jumped at the sound of the door opening.

He drew in a deep breath, turning to bombard the new arrival with another round of sarcasm, but as soon as his eyes fell upon the man he felt his heart sink into his stomach. His gut twisted in knots and he swallowed hard at the rising bile in his throat.

“Dad?” he rasped.

His father was silent as he sat down across the table form the boy.

“Parrish has filled me in on everything,” he explained, cutting straight to the point.

Stiles bowed his head, unable to meet his father’s eyes.

“You told me you had a job and that you were paying the bills.”

“I am paying the bills,” Stiles answered.

“But you lied about the job,” the man affirmed.

Stiles swallowed hard.

“Stiles,” John said slowly, trying to get his son to look him in the eye. “Son.”

Stiles blinked back the hot tears that welled in his eyes. He wasn’t ready for this.

“Is it true?” his father asked.

Stiles held his breath. He didn’t reply.

“Stiles, is it true?” John repeated, his gruff voice firm.

Stiles bit his lip and nodded.

“Why, Stiles?” his asked, pained.

“Because…” Stiles rasped.

“Was it for the money?”

Stiles was silent.

“Stiles, why would you this?” his father asked, desperate for a proper answer.

Soft tears fell from the boy’s eyes, crashing and shattering against the table top.

“I don’t understand how you could do something so stupid.”

“Because I like it!” Stiles cried. He bit into his lip hard enough that it threatened to draw blood. Stiles wanted to cry, he wanted to scream and thrash about like a child throwing a tantrum. A million thoughts flooded his mind and his emotions pushed him over the edge. His tears fell freely, burning at his eyes and streaking his vision. “Because I was desperate and it was the only way out.”

“What the hell happened to you, Stiles?” his father asked, heartbroken. “This isn’t you.”

“It is,” Stiles replied, his voice quiet but defined, defeated.

“You are not my son,” the man retorted. “I have been fed so many lies that I don’t even know the kid standing in front of me.”

He didn’t dare meet his father’s gaze.

The man grunted and gasped through gritted teeth.

Stiles flinched at the pained sound his father made.

The man leant forward, bracing himself against the table.

“Dad?” Stiles muttered, fear and worry flooding his veins.

John’s breathing was shallow, his lips quivering. His hand trembled as he dragged his fingers across the front of his shirt, grabbing at his chest.

Reality hit hard.

Stiles struggled to find his voice, struggled to gulp down enough air to shout.

“Help!” Stiles screamed, thrashing about in his handcuffs and trying to break free. “Someone help!”

John collapsed to the ground.

“Dad!” Stiles howled, kicking over his chair and straining his wrists as he tried to reach his father. “Help!”

The door flung open and Parrish and a medical team stormed in.

Stiles dropped to his knees, unable to look away from his father’s crippled body. He was coughing up blood, streams of crimson liquid flowing from his lips and pooling on the ground.

Stiles watched on, helpless, as the medics ordered everyone about, lifted his father onto a stretcher and rushed him back to the hospital for surgery.

Stiles collapsed to the ground, the muscles in his arms burning as they bent back at an ungodly angle towards the handcuffs. He felt trails of blood roll down his arm as he let Parrish reached above him and unfastened his cuffs.

His hands now free, Stiles slumped to the ground. His tears fell without restraint, his shoulders shuddering violently as he curled up against the leg of the table.

Parrish didn’t talk; he knew there was nothing he could say.

_I’ve lost him_ , Stiles thought. _I’m all alone_.


	12. Chapter 12

John let out a soft groan as he slowly blinked his eyes open. He found himself staring at the all-too-familiar white lights of the hospital room. His chest ached, but the irritating beep of the machine next to him made it clear that he was still alive.

He felt a warm presence at his side, rolling his head to look down at the boy.

Stiles was curled up against the bed, using his arms as a pillow and obviously reluctant to leave his father’s side.

John’s hands trembled as he lifted his arm and gently squeezed his son’s shoulder.

The boy jolted upright, blinking sleepy eyes as he looked up to his dad.

“It’s okay,” John rasped, trying to sound as reassuring as he could. “You’ve still got me.”

They were the same words – the same promise – he had said to the boy as they stood over Claudia’s grave all those years ago.

Stiles’ expression was a mix of emotion: shock, relief and pain.

The boy slid his hand over his father’s feeling for the warmth as he cupped his hands around the man’s withered skin and trembling fingers.

He sat with the boy for a moment, just looking at his son.

Then it struck him: Stiles – his Stiles – could be taken away from him.

“So what’s going to happen?” John asked, his voice weak.

“I’ve been let off on the grounds of emotional trauma,” Stiles explained. “I won’t be sentenced to jail time or put on the sex registry or anything like that, but I have to report to Parrish, as a kind of parole officer, to make sure I’m not doing anything. Money wise…” Stiles sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Why did you do it, Stiles?” John asked.

“Because I needed the money, and no-one would employ me because my anxiety, ADHD and casual flailing make me a walking disaster,” Stiles confessed. “I tried, but I was so desperate that I… I didn’t think.”

“We could have found other ways to get the money.”

“I don’t want charity, dad. And I needed to take care of you.”

“You don’t take care of me,” his father snapped. “I’m the dad, you’re the son. Got it?” He pointed at himself. “Dad.” He gestured at Stiles. “Son.”

Stiles hung his head.

“I’m meant to take care of you,” his father said firmly.

Stiles gnawed at his lip as he slumped back in his chair. He waved his hand about as if he were trying to grasp the words. His voice was dry and raspy as he whispered, “We’re meant to take care of each other.”

John sighed and sank back into the pillows.

“We’ll work something out,” John said quietly.

Stiles nodded but didn’t say anything.

John looked at the boy. His ocean blue eyes glistened with pain. “You know I love you, don’t you?”

Stiles nodded.

There was a moment of silence. The air hung heavy between them.

Stiles hung his head, hoping the shadows would hide his tears. His shoulders trembled as he held back his sobs.

John gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Hey,” he rasped, trying to get the boy’s attention.

“I’m sorry, dad,” Stiles sobbed, wiping at his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. “I just… I was scared to tell you. I just wanted to make sure that you had a house to come home to when you got out.”

John cupped the boy’s cheek. He slid his hand to the back of his son’s head and pulled the boy close, enveloping him in the comforting warmth of his embrace.

He felt Stiles’ shoulders tremble as his tears seeped through John’s hospital gown.

“I’m sorry.” Stiles whispered, “I love you, dad.”

 

Stiles spent the day by his father’s side, occasionally falling asleep in the chair by the bed. But he never closed his eyes for too long because every offbeat blip of the heart monitor made his heart pound with fear, every soft grunt of pain made him panic, and the sounds of footsteps and whispered conversations with Melissa woke him.

His father was out of intensive care but under constant supervision, nurses and doctors strolling in and out of the room every five minutes.

The attention was driving the man mad, making him irritable and aggravated.

“Hey,” Stiles whispered. “If you can get through the next few days without a temper tantrum, I’ll bring you some real food.”

“You’d have to run it by Melissa because I’ve been banned from solids that would be hard to chew like pizza or Thai or anything with flavour,” the man growled bitterly.

“Dad,” Stiles said warningly. He waited for the man to calm down before he continued, “I’ll ask Melissa what you can and can’t have, and – if she allows me to – I’ll bring you a burger and some curly fries.”

John smiled at the thought.

“But if you give Melissa or any of the staff any trouble, the deal is off,” Stiles warned.

John muttered something along the lines of a promise as his medication kicked in and heavy eyelids fell shut.

Stiles kept his eyes on his father’s resting face.

“Hey,” a soft voice whispered.

Stiles turned, smiling softly as Isaac stepped into the room.

“Scott’s outside talking to Melissa,” he explained. “How are you doing?”

“I’m okay,” Stiles whispered. “Not really, but if I fake it, maybe I will be.”

Isaac rested his hand on Stiles’ shoulder reassuringly.

“You can’t tell Scott what I’m about to tell you.”

“I won’t,” Isaac promised.

“I got arrested for solicitation,” Stiles confessed. “There’s no follow through and I didn’t give up your name, so it’s only me in the deep end.”

There was a loud bang as Isaac was hurled back against the wall.

A dark figure loomed over him, hand clasped around the boy’s throat as he pinned him back against the wall.

“Derek,” Stiles yelped, leaping up from the chair and trying to pull the man off the beta.

The man didn’t budge, his cold glare locked on Isaac. “You were one of them?”

Isaac didn’t reply, the alpha’s grip was too tight around his throat.

“Derek, stop,” Stiles growled.

“You swore to me,” Derek howled. His fangs dropped and his eyes lit up red.

Isaac tried say something, but it came out as a gargle of chocked words. His hands weakly clawed at Derek’s forearms.

“Derek, let him go,” Stiles begged, trying to pull the man off of Isaac.

“Just… tried… to help,” Isaac rasped.

“You couldn’t think of another way to help?” Derek barked. “You _used_ him.”

“No,” Isaac pleaded.

“Derek, get off of him,” Stiles ordered. He balled his fist and slammed it into Derek’s jaw.

The man stumbled and fell to the ground. His eyes faded back to their normal hazel colour as he looked up at Stiles in shock.

“What the hell is going on?” Melissa asked as she and Scott stormed into the room.

Scott sprinted to Isaac’s side helping the boy to his feet and supporting him as he coughed and gasped. His dark eyes rolled over Isaac, terrified that he had been hurt.

Stiles narrowed his glare on Derek, almost challenging him to start a fight.

Derek returned the vicious stare. He rose to his feet, his shoulders rising and falling with his heaving breaths. A low rumble of a growl resonated in his chest.

“What is going on?” Melissa repeated.

Derek pointed an accusing finger at Isaac. “He slept with Stiles for money.”

Everyone in the room froze.

“What?” Scott whispered, unable to take his eyes off of Isaac.

“You son of a bitch,” Stiles hissed under his breath. He lunged forward and shoved Derek back against the wall.

Melissa sprang into action, pinning the boy’s flailing arms to his side as she dragged him back from Derek.

He kicked and screamed at the man.

“Derek, you need to leave,” Melissa said firmly.

Derek turned and left.

Stiles stilled in Melissa’s arms but did not relax. He glared at the doorway, not daring to turn and face his friends. He heaved in rugged breaths and swallowed hard, fighting back tears of shame.

Melissa let go of Stiles, keeping her hands either side of him to make sure he didn’t start another fight.

But he didn’t move, he kept his eyes on the wall, listening to the boys behind him.

“Scott,” Isaac whispered, sobbing. “I can explain.”

“Another time,” Scott shushed him. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“I’m okay,” Isaac assured him.

Stiles wiped the tears from his eyes and stormed out of the room.

He ignored the sounds of Scott and Melissa calling after him as he sprinted down the halls of the hospital and out into the street. He leapt into his Jeep and started the engine, listening to the sick wheezing of the gears as it clicked over and sputtered to life.

He pulled away from the curb and drove down the familiar streets until he found somewhere quiet to park.

He sat still for a moment, listening to the screaming silence.

Tears fell down his cheeks.

He tightened his grip on the wheel, feeling the leather melt into his skin. The heat and friction burnt at the palms of his hand.

He released his grip, balling his fists and pummelling the wheel.

He thrashed about in his seat.

Rage boiled through his blood.

Violent sobs shook his body.

He slumped back in his seat.

Searing pain radiated from his fists as patches of red and purple coloured his pale skin, bruises already showing.

He was a mess of emotion – anger, shame, betrayal – and he had no idea where to go from here.

Derek had betrayed him. The one person he thought he could trust outed him.

 _The one person…_ Stiles thought. _The only person who knew and had nothing to hide._

“Son of a bitch,” Stiles growled, rage boiling through his veins as he slammed down the handbrake and pulled out onto the road.

He drove by instinct, not bothered by the tears that blurred his vision as he made his way across down and through the deserted roads. He pulled up before the old Hale house.

He shut off the engine and jumped out of the car. His feet landed among the leaves that littered the forest floor. He stepped around the front of his Jeep and paused for a moment, staring at the lifeless shell that was once a house.

It was a cold, empty, silhouette of cinders. But it was the one memory he had of Derek; the one memory he had held onto the entire time the man had been in Mexico.

Stiles felt a new wave of rage boil up inside of him.

He knelt down and picked up a large rock. He hurled it at the house. It thumped the wooden boards, shaking dust from the grains. He picked up another, biting into his lip as he threw it. He watched as it shattered the dirty window.

“What the hell?” a voice howled from inside the house.

Stiles flinched.

 _No, he can’t be here_ , Stiles panicked. _He’s meant to be in the loft, not here._

Derek bounded into the open. He looked like a beast ready to attack: eyes ablaze with anger, jaw firm, and fists balled ready for a fight.

His glare softened as his eyes fell on the boy.

“Stiles?” he asked, shocked. “What are you doing here?”

“It was you wasn’t it?!” Stiles screamed.

The boy charged forward and shoved Derek back against the wall of his house. He thumped his fists against Derek’s chest.

“You son of a bitch! You ratted me out!”

He thrashed about like a child throwing a tantrum.

Derek grabbed the boy’s wrists, pinning Stiles’ arms to his side and wrestling to hold him still.

Stiles thrashed about in his arms, kicking and screaming.

“This is your fault!” Stiles cried. “You left! You left and everything fell to shit.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek whispered.

“Fuck you!” Stiles howled. “I’ve had to do this all on my own. You left me alone in this hell.”

His legs fell out from beneath him as he collapsed against Derek’s chest.

Derek wound his arms around the boy’ shoulders, holding him close. He cupped the back of Stiles’ head, nestling him into his warmth as the boy sobbed against his shirt.

“I hate you,” Stiles mumbled, half-heartedly thumping his hand against Derek’s chest.

“I’m sorry,” Derek whispered. “I didn’t mean for it to be like this.”

Stiles’ shoulders trembled. His fists uncurled. His hang grabbed at the man’s soft shirt.

“You’re not alone anymore,” Derek whispered, a soft promise. “I promise, you’re not alone. I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere. I won’t let anything else happen. I promise.”


	13. Chapter 13

Stiles was seated on the ratty, old, musky green couch in the lounge room of the Hale house. His eyes were focused on every little detail: the woven dark fibres, the sections of cushion that were worn thin, the gashes torn into the couch where the edges were frayed and pried back to expose the chunks of foam that seeped out, the chunks of foam that were coloured with patches of black and green mould, singed patches of black fabric where the fire had scarred it, and stains were the ashes and dust had covered the furniture.

The house was quiet, silent among the forest. Beyond the walls were the muffled sounds of twittering birds among the trees, the rustling leaves and the scattering animals among the undergrowth. Derek’s heavy footsteps broke thought the quiet of the house, echoing though the shadows as they approached Stiles. He brought the boy a glass of water, holding it out for Stiles as the boy reached for it with a trembling hand.

Stiles didn’t look up at the man. His hand trembled slightly as he reached up and took the clouded glass full of water from him.

Derek sighed and sat down on the small table, facing Stiles. He braced his arms against his knees, lacing his fingers together as he tried to think of what to say next.

Stiles dared to glance up at him, watching as his adventurine eyes sparkled in concentration as Derek sorted through his thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” Derek whispered. “I should have handled things a little better than I did.”

“That’s an understatement,” Stiles muttered.

Derek exhaled. He raked his fingers through his raven black hair. He gnawed at his lip in thought. Seconds passed before he spoke again, shaking his head as he spoke quietly. “Stiles, I just don’t understand why you would do this to yourself?”

“Because I couldn’t risk losing everything I have,” Stiles explained. “My dad got shot and he’s still in a critical condition in hospital. I can’t risk not being able to pay for his treatment because I can’t lose him. He’s all I have left, and I can’t lose him. I can’t fall behind on the mortgage payments either because we’re so close to owning our house, and if I don’t pay then the bank will the it from us and I don’t want my dad to come out of hospital to be homeless. I needed the money.”

“Then why didn’t you just ask for it?”

“Because there was no-one I could ask for it,” Stiles replied. “Scott and Melissa are struggling to keep a roof over their heads and Scott had to pick up extra shifts at the clinic in order to help pay. Lydia’s stretched tight trying to help her mum go through a divorce. No banks would give us a loan and I couldn’t get a job. I don’t take charity, so I did what I could.”

“You could have come to me, I would have helped,” Derek said, seemingly offended.

“You were in Mexico. You didn’t give a shit about us.”

“Stiles, I would have helped.”

“I don’t take charity,” Stiles repeated. “I did what I had to do because I can’t make the sacrifices that you did. I couldn’t give up on my dad and I can’t leave that house for the same reason you keep coming back here-” Stiles gestured around them, taking in the sight of the charred remains of the ruined house. “Because it’s home. It may be broken and old, but it’s home.” His voice was scratchy and broken as he fought back the tears that welled in his eyes. The tears streaked his vision. He blinked rapidly, trying to push back the tears that threatened to fall past his dark eye lashes. “It’s where I grew up. It’s were my dad raised me. It’s the last thing I have of my mum. It’s where the memories are. And I can’t give that up.”

“What if I give you the money?” Derek offered. “What if I pay for the mortgage, the medical care, for food and utilities, and everything else?”

“Don’t even try, Derek,” Stiles growled. “You lost your chance to make it up to me when you turned me in to the cops and had me arrested, and then you had to go and make things worse when you told Scott what I’ve been doing – with Isaac of all people,” Stiles snapped, his rage returning. His eyes burnt with angry tears. “You are beyond helping me. In fact, you’re just making things worse!”

“I’m sorry,” Derek repeated. He sat in silent for a moment, waiting for Stiles to calm down again. He kept his eyes on his hands, staring at the golden skin that covered his knuckles. “What if I buy your time?”

“No, for two reasons: firstly, I can’t do this anymore because you ratted me out to the cops and got me arrested, and now I have no way to pay the mortgage and my dad’s hospital bills and I have to spend my time like a criminal on parole, and secondly, it never once occurred to you that I enjoy this lifestyle, that I like having sex. Just because I take money for it, that doesn’t make me a fuck toy for the people I sleep with. And it’s so much better than being a seventeen year old virgin. Because, surprise, I like having sex.”

“Stiles, there’s a difference between enjoying it and objectifying yourself to get the money,” Derek whispered, his husky voice was soft and warm, and strangely calming. “And that line was drawn at Peter, because I know there is no way that you would have sex with him and enjoy it.” He paused for a moment. “Stiles, this isn’t a good way to live.”

“This isn’t Pretty Woman, Derek,” Stiles snapped. “You can’t just waltz into my life and make everything better. There’s no happily ever after for people like me.”

“There can be,” Derek whispered. “You just have to stay strong and fight for it.”

“I’m tired of fighting, Derek,” Stiles whispered, broken-hearted. “I have fighting this all on my own for so long that I am just so tired. My dad has _days_ to live, less now because of the emotional trauma you caused by having me arrested. In fact, you know what? I’m done; I‘m done with all of this crap.” Stiles set his glass down on the table next to Derek and rose to his feet. “I’m going.”

“Do you need a lift?” Derek asked. He rose to his feet to follow the boy.

“No,” Stiles replied, turning on his heels and making his way towards the front door. “I can drive myself.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Derek offered.

“No,” Stiles repeated. “I just want to spend whatever little time I have left with my dad.”

Derek opened his mouth to say something else, but Stiles interrupted him, “Goodbye, Derek.”

 

Stiles parked his Jeep outside of the hospital and waited for a moment, trying to regain whatever composure he could manage before he climbed out of the car and made his way inside. He eyes were tired and swollen for crying for so long. He struggled to blink his eyes open.

The doors slid open to welcome him into the foyer.

He waved to the nurses behind the desk. They knew him well enough by now – because of his visits to his dad and his own various injuries and treatments over the years – that he didn’t have to sign in for visiting hours or anything.

The triage nurse behind the desk – a lovely young lady with blonde hair pulled back into a bun – smiled at him, but it made Stiles freeze for a moment. It wasn’t her usual sweet smile, it was full of pity and sorrow.

Stiles turned and made his way down the hallway. The disturbingly white walls hurt his eyes, making him feel out of place and uncomfortable, as if this place lacked anything human. It was like a haunting nightmare, an endless spiralling hallway and a blur of the sickening plain colour.

Swirling cascades of sounds crashed over him: hushed whispers, beeping machines, rattling gurney wheels, clattering tools, trickling water and dripping blood, the cries of pain, the rustle of fabric, and every minute sound in existence.

It made his stomach churn and his legs weaken, the overbearing force of anxiety and reality.

He hated the hospital. It was a place that constantly reminded him just how frail mortality was.

He made his way down the hallway towards his father’s room, keeping his eyes on the linoleum. The speckled surface of the floor made his head spin.

Stiles rubbed his eyes and looked down towards the room.

A small, slender figure stood outside the door.

She was dressed in a thin dress, the rippling fabric of the skirt tattered, dirty and torn slightly. Her feet were bare, caked in mud and bleeding in patches where stones had torn open her pale skin.

Doctors and nurses brushed past her, seemingly oblivious to her presence.

Stiles paused for a moment, his feet falling still as he eyes took in the sight of the girl.

“Lydia?” he called cautiously.

She didn’t respond. Her green eyes shimmered as she stared into oblivion. Her lips quivered as she whispered something.

He took a step forward, taking one step after the other as he carefully approached her. He crept up to her side and listened for her words, but he couldn’t understand it; it was garbled nonsense, a lapping tide of a hundred sentences at once. Stiles carefully reached forward and laid his hand on her slender shoulder.

She gasped and jolted at his touch. She span around, eyes wide as she stared at Stiles’ face. It took her a moment to recognise his face.

“You okay?” Stiles asked.

“Stiles?” she whispered.

“Hey,” Stiles replied quietly, smiling softly in hopes of calming her down.

Her lips quivered slightly, tears of fear welled up in her eyes as the emerald depths sparkled with pain.

“I didn’t know it’d be him,” she whimpered. “I swear, I didn’t know it’d be him.”

Stiles froze.

The air was knocked from his lungs, leaving him breathless and his chest aching.

He felt his heart stink into his stomach, bile rising into his oesophagus.

His blood ran cold as fear seeped into his veins, his heart pounding against his ribs and the pulsing blood deafening him.

He swallowed hard, hands trembling and his knees wobbling as his legs threatened to give out beneath him.

“Dad,” Stiles gasped, his lips quivering as tears welled in his eyes and his lungs burnt for air.

He skirted around Lydia and bounded into his dad’s room.

“Dad?” he called.

He raced to his father’s side.

He felt a cool wave of relief wash over him at the sight of the soft sapphire eyes.

“Hey,” his dad rasped.

Stiles sighed. He felt his legs give out beneath him. He collapsed into the small chair by his father’s bed. He dropped his head against his father’s side, panting and sobbing.

John reached up for Stiles, resting his hand against the boy’s chubby, mole-speckled cheek.

“Hey,” John repeated.

“I’m sorry, dad,” Stiles sobbed. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” John whispered.

Stiles sniffed back tears of relief. He nuzzled his face into his father’s tender caress.

He cupped his dad’s hand in his own, feeling how cold the man’s chubby fingers and broad knuckles were as they trembled against his own.

He felt like ice, but Stiles didn’t care; he lost himself in the comfort and familiarity of the man’s tenderness.

“Stiles, I have something that I need to tell you,” his father whispered.

“I’m listening.”

“You know I love you, right?” his dad rasped. “No matter what, I love you.”

“I love you too, dad,” Stiles whispered, tears welling in his eyes.

“And despite everything, I’m proud to say you are my son.” John smiled weakly, running his trembling thumb across the boy’s tear-stained cheek. “I’m proud of you. After everything you’ve been through, you’ve stayed strong and you’ve fought through the adversaries. You smile in the face of tragedy and you go out of your way to make things better. I’m proud of you.”

He paused for a moment, panting to catch his breath.

Stiles stirred with worry as the heart monitor spiked.

“Stiles, thank you, for everything you’ve done,” John continued. “But now, you need to start putting yourself first. You need to take care of yourself. You need to see how much everyone around you loves you, and how much they – we – care for you.”

Melissa stepped into the room, her face solemn and eyes welling with tears. She made her way over to the man’s bedside, sitting opposite Stiles and placing her hand on her friend’s forearm, tenderly running the ball of her thumb over his skin to sooth him.

“Stiles, I love you,” his father rasped. “I love you more than I could ever say. And I am so, so proud of you.”

Before Stiles had the chance to say anything, John turned to Melissa and begged, “Take care of my boy, please.”

“I will,” she whispered, choking on tears as she took a hold of his hand. “I promise.”

John turned his weary blue eyes back to Stiles and said, “I love you.”

Stiles felt scared.

It felt like a farewell.

Tears burnt at his eyes and his voice failed him.

He had a million things he wanted to say, but words escaped him.

The beeps of the heart monitor counted by the seconds until the only thing Stiles could hear was the screaming note as his father flat lines.

 “Dad?” Stiles whimpered. His lips trembled as the man’s hand fell weak in his own. “Dad…”

Melissa lifted the man’s arm off of the bed, pressing a kiss to his hand before rising to her feet. She stepped around the bed, tears rolling down her cheeks as she cautiously approached the boy.

“Stiles,” she whispered. “Sweetie…”

He turned his tear-filled eyes to Melissa.

“You have to help him,” Stiles begged. “Please don’t let him die.”

“I can’t,” Melissa sobbed. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“You’ve got to do something.”

“I’m sorry, sweetie. There’s nothing we can do.”

“No,” Stiles interrupted, turning away from her and holding onto his dad’s cold hand. “No.”

“Stiles, there’s nothing we can do… I’m sorry.”

“No,” Stiles cried. Tears poured from his eyes. His hand’s trembled as he clung to his father’s hand.

He looked at the man’s peaceful face, swallowing hard.

“Dad,” he croaked, as if his broken cries would wake the man. “Dad, please.”

Melissa laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

He thrashed about, shaking her off and laying across his father’s lifeless body as if it would make a difference, as if shielding the man would fight off Death himself.

“Dad, please, wake up,” Stiles sobbed.

“Stiles,” Melissa cooed. “Please.”

Melissa pulled the boy away, fighting his flailing arms and trying to quieten the boy’s heart-breaking screams.

“Dad! No, dad! Please, dad, wake up!”

“Stiles, please,” Melissa begged, gently shushing the boy.

“Dad…” Stiles sobbed, his voice weakening as he collapsed in her arms. “Dad…”

Melissa coiled her arms around the boy’s shoulders, cradling him against her chest.

He cried violently as she pulled him close.

She cradled his head and pressed tender kisses to the crown of his head.

Stiles clawed at her scrubs, balling the fabric into his trembling fists as his tears seeped into the fabric.

His body shuddered violently as he cried.

He had lost his dad.

He had lost everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, did I get your hopes up in the last chapter?  
> You should know not to trust a fanfic writer.


	14. Chapter 14

Stiles sat silently in the hallway, head hung in his hands. He stared at the pale linoleum, his eyes sore from crying.

Figures brushed past him in blurs of colour: doctors, nurses and patrons making their way between the rooms or strolling down the length of the hallway.

He felt nauseous and tired, waiting for the full force of shock to hit him and make his stomach empty whatever contents it had within it. His head pounded, the glaring bright lights making his forehead throb. His eyes were dry, painful from the hour he has spent crying.

He hung his head in his hands, waiting – for what he still wasn’t sure? Maybe he was waiting for some kind of miracle to happen; waiting for his dad to walk down the hall and tell him it’ll all be okay. Maybe it was the denial, but he felt like it was some kind of twisted nightmare, that it never really happened and his brain was just readying himself for the worst to happen.

But he knew it was real, he just wasn’t ready to come to terms with it.

He felt empty and broken.

Melissa returned to Stiles’ side, her dark eyes still bloodshot from crying. She had managed to compose herself enough to order the hospital staff to move John’s body to the morgue, clarified the instructions of his belongings being passed onto her until Stiles is ready to sort through them, and to call Scott and tell him to come and pick up Stiles.

She knelt before the boy, resting a hand on his arms and gently encouraging him to pull his hands away from his face. She took his hands in her own, tenderly brushing the back of his hands with the ball of her thumb.

“You’re going to stay with Scott and me, okay?” she whispered. “We’ll set you up in the spare room or pull out the futon in Scott’s room. We’ll work out everything later. For now, Scott’s going to come and pick you up, he’ll take you home. We have a change of clothes at our place and you can borrow stuff from Scott and Isaac. Tomorrow we’ll go to your place and pack some clothes and whatever you need to stay over at our house.”

“Can I ask for something?” Stiles rasped.

“Sure,” Melissa whispered.

“Can I have his badge?”

Melissa thought for a second. “I don’t know about police protocol when it comes to badges, but I’ll let you hold onto it for now. But you’ll have to talk to the deputy about whether or not you can keep it, okay?”

Stiles nodded.

He didn’t care if it was forever, he needed something, and right now a ‘maybe’ was better than nothing.

“Anything else? His watch? His wedding ring?”

Stiles shook his head.

As much as he wanted something to remember his father by, he wouldn’t take that away from him. He was a loving, faithful man, and Stiles wanted him to be buried with his ring as a reminder of that.

“The watch was a gift from me to him and I want him to keep his wedding ring,” Stiles explained. “He wouldn’t part with it in life, so I won’t take it from him in death.”

“You have time to make this decision, so you can change your mind anytime.”

Melissa gently patted his shoulder before rising to her feet again. Stiles heart the quiet shuffle of her footsteps as she left to fetch his father’s belongings.

He was left alone in the hallway once again, surrounded by the hushed whispers of staff who thought that he couldn’t hear them talk about him.

He tried his hardest to ignore the sounds, to shut out the voices and the people.

He sat there for a minute or two, waiting patiently for Melissa to return when he heard the sound of rushed footsteps rushing down the hallway towards him.

A dark figure slowed to a stop and knelt before him.

Warm hands rested on his shoulder, cautious but caring – as if he were too scared to hug him.

“Hey,” a familiar, husky voice whispered. “Are you okay?”

“Do I look okay?” Stiles croaked.

The figure sat back, levelling his bright eyes with Stiles.

“This is your fault,” Stiles whispered, narrowed his glare on Derek. “You just had to tell him, didn’t you?”

“Stiles…” Derek started, his voice a soft, broken whisper. He looked upset, guilty.

Stiles grabbed a fistful of Derek’s shirt and shoved him back against the far wall. He violently shook the man, slamming his back against the plastered walls as he screamed, “This is your fault!”

The staff in the hallway froze, watching on with eyes wide with fear as Stiles pinned Derek back against the wall and yelled at him. No-one dared to intervene; the boy had just lost his father and he was aggravated enough that he could throw a man twice his size back against the wall.

One doctor suggested sedating the boy, but as soon as they turned their backs things escalated.

Stiles balled his fist and landed a punch on the man’s jaw, dropping him to the ground for the second time that day.

“You bastard,” Stiles spat.

He tried again, but Derek caught his hand, spinning it behind his back and slamming the boy against the plastered wall.

Stiles screamed and thrashed about, kicking and screaming like a child.

“Stiles, I’m sorry,” Derek whispered. “Please.”

“I hate you!” Stiles screamed.

Broken cries echoed down the hallway as Stiles weakened in the man’s hold and sank to the floor.

Derek released his hold on the boy, coiling his arm around the boy’s slender figure and holding him close. Violent sobs shook the boy’s shoulders, his nimble limbs shuddering.

A new wave of tears fell from Stiles’ eyes, rolling across his cheek and shattering against Derek’s arms.

Stiles braced his hands against Derek’s arms, his fingers trembling as he brushed them lightly across the hairs of the man’s forearms.

Derek carefully adjusted his hold on Stiles and carried him back over to his seat. He sat the boy down on the soft cushion and knelt before him. He cupped Stiles’ hands in his own, the shimmering depths of his eyes changing colour, darkening from the sparking aventurine gems to a deep vermillion. The veins in his firm forearm darkened and he took the boy’s pain.

Splotches of purple and black replaced the deep red marks that formed around the boy’s wrist where Derek had grabbed him.

Stiles dropped his eyes to the ground, refusing to meet Derek’s gaze.

Tears rolled down his cheeks and streaked his vision.

Derek carefully lifted his hand and gently brushed away the tears that glistened across Stiles’ skin.

Stiles sniffed, blinking away the last of his tears and turning his face away from Derek’s hand.

“I’m sorry,” Derek whispered.

Stiles risked looking him in the eyes, noticing how the aventurine depths sparkled with pain and guilt.

“I’m sorry,” Derek repeated. He brushed his thumb across the back of Stiles hand. “There’s only so much pain I can take.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a rather short chapter so I thought I'd post it now before I update with a more substantial chapter on Friday.   
> (It might a double update on Friday, so stay tuned)


	15. Chapter 15

Stiles buried his hands in his pocket, his fist balled around the chunky, golden metal of his father’s star-shaped badge. He ran his thumb across the grooves, his soft skin melting into the ridges he had memorised years ago. The paint-filled gaps were smooth and cold despite how many times he had caressed it. The ridged edges dug into his fingers.

In the other hand he held his father’s brass name badge, the stamped lettering: STILINSKI.

He kept his eyes on the ground, following the scuffed heels of Scott’s sneakers. He followed in his friend’s footsteps as they made their way across the front lawn and up onto the small balcony.

Stiles heard the clatter and jingle of keys as Scott slid them into the lock and rattled the door open.

He followed Scott into the house, instinctively following his footsteps as Scott led him upstairs and into Isaac’s room.

“Isaac and I will share, unless you want to sleep on the futon in my room,” Scott offered.

“You don’t have to pretend that Isaac’s sleeping on the futon,” Stiles muttered.

Scott blushed and bit into his lip.

Stiles looked around the room, feeling his gut twist nervously as he was plagued with the memories of everything he did. The feeling was made worse as Scott turned his soft brown eyes on his friend.

Stiles turned away from Scott’s inquiring gaze, dragging his feet over to the bed and sitting down on the edge of the mattress.

“Dude,” Scott said softly. “If you don’t want to be alone, you can sleep in my room. I mean it.”

“Thanks, but… I don’t know.” Stiles sighed. “I don’t know what I want right now.”

Scott sat down beside him. He slung his arm around his friend’s shoulder and pulled him into a comforting hug.

“I’ll set the futon up so you can choose. I promise Isaac and I won’t be doing anything, so you can come in any time if you want to change your mind,” Scott whispered. “We’re here for you.”

“Thanks, man,” Stiles muttered, dropping his head to Scott’s shoulder.

“Do you need anything?”

“A shower,” Stiles admitted, running his hands through his unkempt hair.

Scott nodded.

“I’ll grab you a change of clothes and a towel,” Scott offered.

Stiles muttered a quiet thank you and made his way towards the bathroom.

He had spent so much time at Scott’s house over the years that they had decided it would be easier if he kept a change of clothes at his friend’s place for the nights when Stiles slept over because his dad was working late or out of town, or something to change into after muddy lacrosse practices in the backyard.

Scott gently knocked at the open bathroom door. He passed Stiles a clean towel and his change of clothes. Stiles offered him a weak smile but it failed him. Scott gently patted his friend on the shoulder before leaving him be.

Stiles shut the door and locked it. He turned on the hot water and stripped off his clothes. The smell of the hospital lingered on his clothes and skin, the disturbing stench of disinfectant and death.

His body shuddered, frail limbs shaking violently as he dragged his feet over to the edge of the shower and stepped beneath the warm droplets of water. Swirls of steam plumed up around him as the hot water scolded his skin, turning the pale flesh red.

He felt his legs tremble beneath him. He braced himself against the wall, steadying himself as he sank down to the bottom of the shower. He pulled his knees to his chest. His shoulders shuddered as a new wave of tears fell from his eyes. They were redundant among the falling droplets of the shower.

He tried to stiffly his cries so that no eavesdropping werewolves would hear.

He bit into the back of his hand, burning pain seeping into his veins.

There was a soft knock at the door.

“Stiles,” Melissa called from outside the bathroom, her sweet voice laced with worry. “Are you okay?”

Stiles breathed in deeply, lowering his hand away from his face as he replied, “I’m fine.”

He rose to his feet and shut off the water. He took a moment to steady himself on his feet before stepping out of the water. He wound the towel around his narrow limbs and patted himself dry.

Beyond the door, he could hear Melissa and Scott talking – their hushed voices not quite muffled by the door. He could hear them talk about Stiles and how worried they were.

His head began to spin, his stomach churning and tears welling in his eyes. He wrapped the towel around his waist sat down on the floor, the ridges of grout between the tiles digging into his skin. He slumped back against the cold wood of the door.

There was another soft knock, the vibrations rattling through his shoulders and into his hollow chest.

“Stiles,” Scott called. “You alright in there?”

“I’m fine,” Stiles replied, his voice strained by the lump in his throat. He swallowed hard, blinking the tears from his eyes.

“Dude, if you need to talk-“

“I said I’m fine,” Stiles screamed. “Just leave me alone!”

There was a moment of silence.

Stiles felt his stomach twist with regret, his chest felt hollow as he struggled to draw breath.

He heard the soft whispers outside the door as Scott and Melissa talked in hushed voices. After a moment, Stiles heard the soft patting of their bare feet trail away down the hallway.

Stiles pushed his head back against the door, feeling the back of his scalp burn as he threw it back against the carved ridges of the wood, straining the muscles in his head as he pushed back further.

He tried to muffle his cries, but he knew it’d be useless in a house with two werewolves and a worrying mother.

His tears felt cold as they rolled down his hot cheeks as he let down his defences, breaking his composure, and cried, violently and relentlessly.

 

Stiles lay awake that night, staring at the shifting shadows of night that danced across the ceiling. His head was cradled by the soft pillows of Isaac’s bed.

He had given up trying to sleep a few hours ago.

He sat up in bed, the blanket pooling around his hips. He wanted to cry but he was unable to, his eyes heavy, dry and sore.

He felt lost, empty.

He felt like a ten year old again, waiting for his father to come and pick him up from Scott’s house, like what happened earlier that day was just some sort of sick nightmare and his father was still alive; sitting in his office and watching the seconds tick by until he could clock off work and come to collect his son.

Through the darkness of the night, he heard the soft husky whisper; “Hey, kiddo, you ready to go home?”

“Not yet, dad,” Stiles whispered.

“Okay, we’ll stay a little longer.”

He knew that wasn’t real, but he so desperately wanted to believe it was.

Stiles swung his legs over the edge of the mattress and rose from the bed. He rose to his feet, taking a second to stop his head spinning before he collected his jeans, jacket and socks. He dressed and collected his phone, wallet and his keys off of the small dresser. He shoved them into the pocket of his jeans before fetching his father’s polished metal badges.

He sneaked over to his door, coiling his fingers around the doorknob. He slowly turned it, wincing and holding his breath as he prayed that it wouldn’t rattle or squeak as he pulled the door open. He crept down the hallway, his threadbare socks making it a little difficult to walk across the smooth polished floorboards. He held his breath as he tiptoed down the stairs, cringing every time he stumbled or slipped.

He tried to avoid the planks of wood that groaned in the cold of the night, knowing that it would only take one to wake Scott.

The thin moonlight didn’t help, but he had spent so much time as Scott’s that he had memorised the house.

He felt his foot fall upon the small rug at the bottom of the stairs.

He let out a soft sigh and shuffled forward. He collected his shoes from beside the front door and pulled them on over his thin socks.

He felt a wave of relief roll over him, the calming though that freedom was in his reach and he wouldn’t have to worry about offending or worrying Scott or Melissa.

He steadied his feet in his shoes, making his way towards the kitchen; the door out the back was quieter and would make for a quicker getaway to his Jeep.

“Hey,” a quiet whisper ruptured the silence like thunder in his ears.

Stiles jolted, nearly collapsing to the ground or crying out in shock.

His heart pounded against his ribs and his mouth was dry. He swallowed hard, turning around to see a silhouette among the darkness. His eyes adjusted to the dim light, making out the face at the top of the stares that matched the voice.

“You should be in bed, Scott,” Stiles whispered.

“What are you doing?” Scott asked as he gracefully made his way down the stairs and over to Stiles’ side.

“I can’t stay here,” Stiles whispered, turning away from Scott and double checking that he had collected all of his belongings.

Scott looked pained, his dark eyes glimmering in the dull light. “Why not?”

“Because everywhere I look I see him,” Stiles explained, his lips quivering as tears welled up in his eyes. “And it’s the stupid little things, like when he’d pick me up from sleep overs, or when he’d bring over dinner because your mum had just gotten off of a late shift, or when he came over in the middle of the night when your father left and sat with your mum while she worried over you, or when he told us off for breaking the back door while we were training for lacrosse and then fixed it before your mum got home so we wouldn’t get in trouble, or when he brought ice cream over in summer so that I had a reason to come and play, or when the heating broke and we brought all the pillows and blankets from our house and built the biggest, warmest pillow fort – and I still don’t know why we didn’t just let you stay in our house until the heating was fixed.” Stiles bit into his lip to stop it quivering. His voice faltered as tears fell down his cheeks. “It’s the stupid little things that I just can’t stand.”

“So what are you going to do?” Scott asked.

Stiles shrugged. He sniffed back his tears and rubbed at his cheeks with the sleeve of his jacket. “I’ve got to get away from here.”

“Where are you going?”

He shrugged again.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I can’t go home. I can’t stay here. I… I don’t know.”

“Give me a minute to run upstairs and grab a jacket, my keys and my phone,” Scott whispered. “I’ll take you anywhere you need to go.”

“I can drive myself,” Stiles replied.

“I know,” Scott said, his expression softening with a friendly smile. “But it’s probably best not to drive while you’re…”

“Unstable,” Stiles finished, admitting defeat. “Emotionally traumatised.”

Scott dropped his gaze, his dark eye glimmering with guilt. He would never use those words, but Stiles was right. And even though he was right, Scott was too scared to say so in case he offended his friend.

Scott thought for a moment before looking up at Stiles. “How about I grab my stuff and then we’ll drive into the city for midnight McDonalds – milkshakes, chocolate sundaes, fries, and maybe some burgers – then we’ll head to the lookout or maybe just drive around until we figure out where you want to go, sound good?”

Stiles smiled and nodded. “Sounds good.”


	16. Chapter 16

An hour or so later, the boys found themselves up on the lookout, staring out across the dark abyss that was Beacon Hills at 1am. It was a peaceful oblivion that stretched across to the horizon, a pool of onyx in which the few scattered houses, storefronts and streetlights that that glittered in the darkness mirrored the starry sky like a reflection on the surface of a lake.

They sat atop the hood of Melissa’s SUV, spooning mouthfuls of cheap sundaes into their mouths.

Stiles swirled the spoon about in the small plastic cup, mixing the chocolate sauce with the soft serve ice-cream.

Neither of them talked; they didn’t know what to say.

It took a while before Scott finally broke the brick wall of silence between them. His voice was quiet as he said, “Stiles, I’ll be honest: I have no idea what you’re going through. I want to you to know that I’m here for you and I’ll do whatever I can to help, but there’s only so much I can do.”

“What are you saying?” Stiles asked, trying to keep all notes of accusation or worry out of his voice. His mind flooded with panicked thoughts.

_Is he giving up on me? Am I that much of a disaster? Is he going to abandon me? Have I lost my best friend? Am I alone? What did I do wrong?_

“Maybe you should talk to someone about this,” Scott suggested.

“I don’t need therapy, Scott,” Stiles replied, poking at his sundae with his spoon.

“I don’t mean therapy. I mean Derek or Isaac,” Scott explained. “Maybe you should talk to someone who understands what it’s like to suffer such a loss.”

“That might not be the best idea,” Stiles muttered. He didn’t want to explain why. His stomach twisted and knotted at the memories of how Derek had betrayed him: ratting him out to the cops, stressing his father to the point of his death, telling Scott about Stiles’ involvement with Isaac, and all the fights they had had over the past few weeks. He tried to think of a change of subject, but the thought lingered.

Stiles breathed in deeply and bit into his lip. “Scott, about Isaac…”

“You don’t have to explain yourself; it was before he and I were dating and I’d rather not think about my boyfriend sleeping with my best friend.”

“It never meant anything, I swear,” Stiles promised.

“Dude, I am a little disappointed I am that you think so lowly of yourself that you’d sell yourself for sex,” Scott admitted. “I’m just glad that Isaac found a way to give you money without you thinking it was charity.”

Stiles hung his head in shame.

“So,” Scott started slowly. He swallowed hard. “How was it?”

“What? Having sex with Isaac?”

“Yeah,” Scott replied, blushing and fidgeting nervously.

“It was great,” Stiles confessed. “Incredible, actually. It was so good that it doesn’t matter if you top or bottom; he’s just that good.”

Scott thought it over for a moment, his cheeks growing red in the moonlight as a sweet smile lifted his cheeks.

“I don’t want to know which one you are or intend to be,” Stiles interrupted before Scott had the chance to speak.

Scott couldn’t help but laugh, his soft chuckle putting Stiles at ease.

Stiles looked at Scott and whispered, “I’m sure that it’ll be a hundred times better for the two of you, especially considering every time we did it he was thinking of you.”

Scott met Stiles’ gaze.

“Yeah,” Stiles said, nodding his head. “A little awkward, but at least he never said your name while we were...”

They were silent for a moment.

Scott snorted and burst into laughter.

Stiles smiled.

“I’m sorry,” his friend muttered.

“Don’t be,” Stiles replied. “I’m just glad that you, Isaac and Allison finally worked everything out. It’s just painful to see someone you love sit on the sidelines and think they never had a chance.” Stiles’ voice trailed off in thought.

“Dude,” Scott whispered, sitting upright to look at Stiles’ distanced expression. “Are you okay?”

Stiles slid off of the hood of the car. He dropped to the ground and waited a moment to steady himself before turning back to Scott.

“I think I know where I need to go,” he said.

Scott slid down to the ground.

“Okay, where?” Scott asked.

Stiles looked back through the dense forest.

“Where?” he whispered to himself, thinking. After a moment he lifted his head and replied, “The other side of town. You can drop me off near the school and I’ll walk from there.”

“Not at this time of the night,” Scot objected. “I’ll drive you there.”

Stiles smiled and nodded.

“Jump in,” Scott instructed, nodding towards the car. “Your chauffer awaits your direction.”

Stiles pulled open the passenger-side door and slid into the cushioned seat. He pulled the seatbelt across his slender body, feeling his stomach knot and flutter with brewing anxiety.

Scott turned the key and the car roared to life.

He turned to look at Stiles.

“Okay,” he said, his dark eyes meeting Stiles’ gaze. “Where are we heading?”

 

Stiles waited patiently as the heavy iron door slid open. The heavy locks clunked back and the small wheels rattled as the rusted panel opened.

A large figure stood in the doorway, his silhouette lit up by the bleeding silver light of the moon.

“Stiles?” the gruff voice whispered, eyes blinking and adjusting to the darkness.

Stiles breathed in deeply, his lungs burning and his heart pounding against his ribs. He swallowed hard, his hands trembling as he began to second guess his decision.

“Are you okay?” Derek asked, eyes suddenly wide with worry.

Stiles drew in a deep breath.

He reached forward and cupped the man’s face, bringing their lips together.

Stiles was patient but insistent, waiting until Derek relaxed into the warmth of the boy’s lips and returned the kiss.

Stiles coiled his arms around Derek’s broad shoulders, lacing his fingers through the soft, cropped locks of Derek’s raven black hair.

Derek couldn’t fight it. He pulled Stiles closer, feeling the warmth of the boy’s body melt into his own. He cupped the back of the boy’s head, lacing his fingers through the boy’s hair. His other hand trailed down the boy’s side, caressing his surprisingly firm body before settling on the curve of his hip, pulling him closer.

He walked the boy inside, shoving the door back into place and gently pushing Stiles back against the thick metal plating. He pressed his hips against Stiles’, pushing him back against the door but not pinning him there in fear of trapping him and startling him.

Stiles slid his hand up under the hem of Derek’s shirt, feeling the taut muscles that twitched beneath the man’s golden flesh. He caressed the man’s soft skin, feeling the smooth curves and the warmth of his body. God, he was perfect.

Stiles tried desperately to make that moment last forever, but the burning pain in his lungs forced him to break away for air. Derek chased the boy’s soft pink lips, bringing them together again.

The kiss was tender and loving, but it quickly escalated into something more savagely passionate. It was hard, deep and messy. Stiles looped his arms around Derek’s neck, using his weight to pull the man closer. He opened his mouth and heeded to Derek’s dominating tongue.

Derek laced his fingers through Stiles’ hair, the buds of his fingers gently massaging his scalp.

Stiles hummed against Derek’s lips.

The hand on the boy’s hip pulled him closer, the ball of his thumb rubbing circles into the pale, exposed patch of Stiles’ skin.

Stiles drew back again, resting his forehead against Derek’s. He could feel Derek’s rugged breaths pant against his lips, trails of warmth lingering on his lips.

Derek sighed, pressing their foreheads together. Stiles shuddered beneath his touch as Derek ran his hands up his sides, caressing him as if testing for reality.

Stiles blinked open his eyes, the amber depths consumed by the onyx depths of desire.

Derek looked back, his aventurine eyes glittering with love. He craned his neck and bought their mouths together again, brushing his lips across Stiles’ lightly – barely a kiss.

“Derek,” Stiles gasped.

The man sighed at the sound of the boy’s voice, words escaping him as he nuzzled closer into the boy’s warmth.

“Do you promise you won’t leave?” Stiles whimpered, his voice strained as he choked on a sob.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Derek promised. “I’m here. And I’m staying.”

He pressed a tender kiss to the boy’s forehead, moving his hand from the back of the boy’s head to the crown. He laced his fingers through the boy’s soft chestnut brown hair, stroking it back in a fruitless attempt to smooth the ruffled locks.

Stiles sighed at the gently touch, leaning into the touch.

Derek noticed the glittering tears that fell from the boy’s eyes, glistening in the moonlight as they rolled down his cheeks.

“Don’t cry,” Derek whispered, pressing a kiss to the boy’s forehead as he lowered his hand to the boy’s cheek, brushing the ball of his thumb across the smooth skin and smearing the trails that the tears left over the boy’s pale skin.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Stiles sobbed.

Derek met Stiles’ eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Derek whispered. “I should never have left.”

Stiles shushed him, pressing his forehead against Derek’s. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Please, just don’t leave again. Please, stay.”

“I’m staying,” Derek promised, nuzzling his face against Stiles’. “I swear, I’ll never leave again.”

Soft tears of relief continued to fall from Stiles’ eyes.

Derek gently brushed them aside, pressing a soft kisses to Stiles’ forehead and his cheeks.

“I missed you,” Stiles whispered.

“I missed you too,” Derek admitted.

“You wouldn’t miss me,” Stiles muttered, his weak fists balling at Derek’s shirt.

“I did,” Derek whispered, pulling Stiles close. “I missed you so much, I couldn’t stand it.”

He craned his neck to look the boy in the eye. “Stiles, I came back for you.”


	17. Chapter 17

Derek let Stiles stay, carrying him over to the bed and lavishing him with kisses until the boy calmed down enough and settled into a comforting sense of security, enough so that he fell asleep in Derek’s arms.

The man was scared that he was impeding, moving too fast in a time that made the boy sensitive to manipulation. He didn’t want that for Stiles. But every time the man went to move, to leave the boy in the bed and sleep on the couch, Stiles stirred in his arms, making Derek freeze in fear of waking the boy and lay with him.

Stiles fretted often, thrashing about, rolling back and forth, shuffling across the mattress and kicking at the blankets in an effort to get comfortable.

Derek rolled him onto his side, pulling the boy back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around Stiles, one settling around the boy’s slender waist – his hand pressed against the boy’s chest as Stiles’ frail fingers lightly caressed the skin – and the other laid beneath the boy’s head like a pillow.

Stiles nuzzled his face into Derek’s bicep, exposing the curve of his shoulder for Derek to rest his head against.

He felt Stiles sigh and sink into the security of the man’s embrace.

The boy’s heavy eyelids fluttered shut as he melted into the blissful sense of loving safety that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

They stayed like that for the rest of the night, until the dawn stained the sky red, the anaemic light bled through the dirty windows of the loft and Stiles finally stirred. He inhaled the sweet air of the morning and blinked his eyes open, groaning and squeezing them shut against the glaring light.

“Hey,” Derek whispered.

Stiles rolled around in his arms, his shimmering amber eyes taking a moment to recognise Derek’s face, blinking heavily as if still waking up and shaking off the illusion of a dream.

“You okay?”

Stiles hummed indecisively, rolling onto his side again.

“Do you want to get up?” Derek asked, his voice soft and comforting.

Stiles shook his head.

“Okay,” Derek whispered, pressing a soft kiss to Stiles’ temple before settling back down against the mattress. “We’ll stay here a little longer, but I’ll get up soon and get us breakfast.”

Stiles nodded, shuffling back against Derek’s chest.

That’s how it was for many more mornings to come: Stiles waking up in Derek’s arm – depressed, defeated and unable to move, and yet perfectly content to lie there in the comfort of his embrace – and Derek stayed with him; cuddling him or sitting back to read a book until it was time to get up and get food or drinks. Every morning, Derek asking Stiles if he wanted to go to school, but the boy continued to say no.

Lydia and Scott brought by notes and homework, sitting with Stiles and trying to get him to talk, but the boy was out of reality, staring at the grainy concrete wall or out the cloudy glass of the windows that lined the wall of the loft.

The only time he spoke was to Derek: to ask him to read out loud just so his voice could lull the boy to sleep or calm him whenever his emotions spiked, to ask for a glass of water, to ask for Thai or pizza or something in particular for dinner, or to whisper goodnight as he settled into the man’s arms.

That’s how it was all week, until Friday rolled around.

“Do you want to get up?” Derek asked as he usually did. His voice was a soft whisper as he leant over the boy, gently stroking his unkempt hair as the boy stared into the oblivion beyond the shadows of the wall.

Stiles was silent for a moment.

Derek almost gave up on him, sighing as he leant forward to press a kiss to the boy’s cheek.

“I want to try today,” Stiles rasped.

The boy’s soft voice shocked Derek; he never expected a reply.

“Okay,” Derek replied. “What do you want to do today?”

“Shower,” Stiles admitted.

“That’s a start,” Derek chucked. He gently patted the boy’s shoulder and sat upright.

Stiles followed suit, taking a moment to gather his senses as the sheets pooled around his waist. He thrashed about childishly in an attempt to kick the sheets off. He muttered something weakly as he rose to his feet, swaying unsteadily.

Derek pounced to his side, catching him seconds before he collapsed.

“Are you sure you want a shower?” Derek asked, his voice softened by worry.

“Derek, I haven’t showered in however long I’ve been here,” Stiles reminded him.

“Stiles,” Derek said calmly, “You can barely stand on your own.”

“I’ll be fine,” Stiles muttered, letting Derek guide him as he shuffled towards the bathroom. He stripped his clothes off as he went, dropping his shirt to the floor and leaning against Derek as he wrestled his boxers off.

“Stiles,” Derek gasped, averting his eyes.

“What?” Stiles squawked. “You seem hell bent on holding me upright and if you continue to do so while I shower then you’re going to have to see me naked. Besides –“ He turned and looked at Derek proudly. He raised his brow challengingly. “– I have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“No, you don’t,” Derek muttered. A bright red blush warmed his cheeks as he realised what he had said.

Stiles smirked cheekily. That gorgeous smile was enough to melt Derek’s heart and set aside any anxiety.

The boy rose onto his toes and leant forward to press a soft kiss to Derek’s lips. He watched as Derek’s eyes fluttered and he licked at his lips, tasting the faint trace of Stiles that was left on the rosy pink flesh.

“You can always join me,” Stiles proposed, his voice low and sultrily as he gently tugging at the waistband of Derek’s track pants. He turned and sauntering off towards the bathroom, purposefully showing off his bare ass as he walked away, leaving the man to stand in shock as he contemplated his options.

After a moment, he swore under his breath and followed Stiles.

He stripped his clothes and tossed them in the basket in the corner of the bathroom, ignoring the sight of Stiles’ smug smile in the mirror. He set out towels for the both of them.

The boy turned the taps, waiting for the water to warm and plumes of steam to rise before stepping into the shower.

Derek joined him.

“No teasing,” Derek muttered. “You can barely stand, I don’t want to make that worse.”

“Okay,” Stiles agreed, reaching for the soap and spreading the foamy lather across his body. Mid-wash, the boy froze, letting gashing water clear away streams of soap. “What day is it?”

“Friday,” Derek replied.

“Shit,” Stiles hissed, quickly rinsing off and stepping out of the water. He grabbed a towel and patted himself dry.

 “What’s wrong?” Derek asked, suddenly alert and panicked.

“I have to be somewhere,” the boy muttered, spinning about in circles, looking about for something that wasn’t there.

“Borrow some of my clothes,” Derek instructed.

The boy sprinted out of the bathroom, ass naked.

Derek shut off the water and dried himself, coiling the towel around his waist as he followed Stiles out into the main room. He smothered his laughter at the sight of Stiles thrashing about in Derek’s clothes like a child dressing up in their brother’s hand-me-downs.

“Where do you need to go?” he asked.

“Police station.”

“Why?” Derek asked, pushing for clarity.

The boy spoke in fragmented sentences as he hurried about, “Need to talk to Parrish. Parole.”

“I give up,” Derek muttered, tossing his arm in the air as he failed to piece together the boy’s fragmented stammered words.

There was a loud clatter as Stiles tripped over his own legs.

Derek leapt forward and caught him before he hit the ground.

“Are you okay?” Derek asked, eyes wide with worry as they rolled over the boy’s body, his hands patting at the boy’s bodies to check for injuries.

“Yeah,” Stiles muttered. He blinked rapidly. Stiles shocked by the whole experience and not quite comprehending what had happened.

“Just calm down, okay?” Derek encouraged. “Give me a minute to get dressed and I’ll drive you wherever you need to go.”

“Okay,” Stiles agreed. He glanced down. Realising that Derek had dropped his towel in favour of catching the boy, now completely exposed and bathed in the golden light of the morning. “Or you could just go like that.”

“Stiles,” Derek growled. He set the boy on his feet and turned to get dressed.

“I’m serious.” Stiles tilted his head and stared at the curve of Derek’s firm ass. “I don’t think anyone would complain if you showed up like that.”

“Sure, I’ll arrive to the police station naked,” Derek replied. “At least it makes it easier for them to arrest me for indecent exposure.”

“I would hardly call that indecent.”

Stiles licked his lips lustfully.

Derek shot the boy a dirty glare.

A sly smirk lifted the boy’s cheeks as he winked at the man.

Derek narrowed his glare and turned his back to the boy to dress. He ignored the sound of the boy’s disappointed sigh as he tugged on a pair of boxers and an approving hum as he pulled a pair of tight jeans on. He rolled his eyes at the boy, tugging on a shirt as he made his way towards the door of the loft and collected his keys.

“Come on,” the man called as he pulled open the heavy iron door. He gestured out of the door. “You have somewhere you need to be after all.”

 

As they pulled up in front of the police station, Derek’s soccer-mum four-wheel-drive hummed, quieting as Derek shut off the engine. He glanced across the car to Stiles, who sat silently in the passenger seat, staring at the building as if it were something that haunted his nightmares.

“You going to be okay?” he asked quietly.

Stiles swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Stiles shook his head. “No, I’ll be alright.”

The boy buried his hand in his pocket, rolling the ball of his thumb across the grooves of his father’s badge. He took a deep breath and pulled open the car door. The rubber soles of his sneakers scuffed the rough concrete of the parking lot. He stood there for a moment, staring up at the daunting building.

“Derek,” he muttered, voice weak as he turned to look at the man.

Derek turned his shimmering eyes to the boy attentively. “Hmm?”

“Can you stay here?” Stiles asked, a hint of begging in his voice.

“Of course,” Derek promised.

Stiles nodded and shut the door. His heart beat hammered against his ribs as he walked towards the doors. Before he made it inside, Parrish met him in the doorway, smiling sweetly.

“Hey,” Parrish greeted. “You came.”

“I promised I would,” Stiles muttered.

Parrish smile and patted the boy on the shoulder.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” the deputy offered. “I know this nice ice cream shop down by the park.”

“Parrish, please don’t insult my intelligence,” Stiles muttered. “I was raised by my father and have become very skilled in picking up tells that show you’re hiding something from me.”

Parrish’s smile faltered for a moment, the sickeningly sweet one replaced by one of pride.

“You’re planning his funeral, aren’t you?” Stiles asked.

Parrish nodded.

Stiles drew in a deep breath. “Can I help?”

Parrish nodded again, holding open the door to usher Stiles inside. Stiles followed Parrish back through the maze of hallways and into the open floor space of the desks that were covered in arrangements of flowers, photographs, planned paper and invitations, memorials, headstones, and hundreds of other details that Stiles would never have thought of.

The room fell silent.

All eyes turned to the boy.

Stiles swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the air and the thick tension bear down on him.

He looked towards one of the desks where two large flower wreaths sat: one made of lavender, purple bellflowers, and large dahlias, and the other made of vibrant white roses, cherry blossoms, ribbons of forget-me-nots and flurries of hydrangeas filling the gaps.

“The white one,” Stiles rasped, pointing at the bouquet. “My mum liked the purple flowers, my dad couldn’t face them after her funeral.”

After that, the ice melted away and people spoke freely. Stiles helped plan the notices – the colour of the paper, the decorations, the font and the list of people they were to be sent out too – and the music and details of the reception.

The squad assured him that his father would be honoured as the hero he was; as his death was a result of his duty, he would be given the proper burial with the twenty-one gun salute and proper succession.

Stiles begged for his father’s body to be buried next to his mother’s grave and not in the section dedicated to service men. He helped design the tombstone so that it looks similar to Claudia’s but acknowledge the man he was: loving father, loyal husband, true friend, honourable man and dutiful in the line of justice.

It was only when they pulled up the photos to be shown at the reception did Stiles break. Jordan had found a photo of John and Claudia holding a very young Stiles.

He remembered that photo.

He was five years old when it was taken. He remembered the sound of his father’s soft laughter and his mother’s sweet voice as she encouraged Stiles to look at the camera. He remembered the sparkle of joy in their eyes, their gorgeous smiles and the colour in their cheeks. He remembered how lively they were.

And at the same moment, he remembered they were gone. He remembered how lonely he was.

Hot tears welled in his eyes, streaking his vision. He rubbed at his face with his sleeve. Before Jordan had the chance to ask him if he was okay, Stiles sprinted into the hallway and collapsed in one of the seats.

Jordan rushed to his side, pulling the boy into his arms and holding him here as the boy sobbed. Tears seeped through the man’s shirt, soaking his skin. He whispered sweet nothings to the boy until he calmed.

Stiles shoulders trembled as he sniffed and sat back, rubbing at his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket.

He buried his hand into his pocket and pulled out his father’s sheriff’s badge. He offered it to Parrish but the man gently pushed Stiles’ hands away.

“You can keep it,” he whispered. “We’re going to get another one made and mounted on the wall for his memorial.”

“Thank you,” Stiles rasped. He glanced down at the badge in his hand, rolling his thumb across the brass.

“I have to ask one last thing,” Jordan forewarned. He waited a moment for the boy to ready himself before continuing, “Do you want to keep your father’s wedding ring?”

Stiles shook his head.

“I do, but more importantly I want him to be buried with it,” he explained.

He desperately wanted something that was meaningful of both his parents, and he wanted his father to be buried with his ring: the one thing that signified his marriage, his devotion and his experience.

“Hang on.” Parrish rose and made his way back into the offices. He returned minutes later with a small box in his hand. “This was your fathers. The first wedding ring he bought when he married your mother, but after the ceremony they realised it was few sizes too small, but instead of thinning it and having it extended to fit he bought a new one.”

“The silver one?” Stiles asked, taking the small box that Jordan offered him. “I thought he lost it.”

“He told me he hid it from you because when you were little you persistently tried to eat it.”

Stiles chuckled, his admission of guilt.

“Would you like to keep this one?” Parrish asked.

Stiles nodded.

Parrish rested his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Stiles,” he said softly. “I just want you to know that I’m here for you. If you ever need anyone to talk to, I’m here. You can always talk to me about anything at any time.”

Stiles nodded again.

“Now I have to play the parole officer,” Parrish sighed. “Do you have a place to stay?”

“Yeah, I’m staying with a friend on the other side of town. I’ve also been offered a room at Scott’s and I still have my own house to deal with.”

“How are you doing for amenities and rent?” Parrish asked.

“I haven’t had the chance to talk that through with him, I’ve been pretty out of it all week,” Stiles admitted.

“Free rent, and I refuse to let him pay for bills or food,” a voice piped up form down the hallway.

Derek stepped closer, hands buried in his leather jacket as he sauntered towards them. His cold eyes were levelled on Stiles.

“And he won’t be paying for _anything_ by means of sex,” Derek said firmly.

Parrish seemed content to hear that.

“And I’m sorry to interrupt,” Derek apologised, turning his attention to the deputy. “I was just coming to see if everything was okay.”

He turned his attention to Stiles, his glare softening at the sight of his bloodshot eyes and tear stained cheeks.

“I’m alright,” Stiles assured the man, sniffing and whipping away his tears.

“Scott called to see if you’re going to school today because your classes start in half an hour,” Derek announced. “Do you want to go?”

Stiles thought about it for a moment, but before he could answer Parrish patted Stiles’ shoulder as he rose to his feet.

“I’ll leave you be,” the man pardoned himself, dusting off his uniform.

“Thank you,” Stiles whispered.

“I’ll see you next week,” Parrish farewelled, walking towards the offices. He stopped before the door and turned. “And Stiles,” he called. “I mean it. You can call me any time.”

Derek watched him go, a little sceptical.

“Stop it,” Stiles muttered.

“What?” Derek asked defensively.

“He’s my parole officer, or kind of,” Stiles explained. “I have to talk to him every Friday to prove that I’m not doing what I used to do.”

Derek nodded.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles apologised. “I got caught up in helping them plan my dad’s funeral.”

“There’s no need to be sorry,” Derek assured him.

Stiles rose to his feet, holding tightly to his father’s badge and the small box. He made his way towards the doors, falling against Derek’s side and letting the man sling his arm around the boy’s shoulders.

They clambered into the car and fastened their seatbelts.

“So,” Derek said quietly. “Where are we heading?”

Stiles thought for a moment.

“I want to try,” he replied. “I want to try a day at school.”

“Okay,” Derek replied. “Is there anything you need from your house?”

“Yeah,” Stiles sighed. “Books, lacrosse gear, clothes… but I can’t, I’m not ready to-”

“Hey,” Derek said softly, reaching across to take a hold of Stiles’ hand. “It’s okay.”

Stiles took a moment to calm down.

“I’ll drop you off at school and then I’ll go pick up the stuff for you and bring the books and your gear during your lunch break,” Derek offered. “I’m sure someone will lend you some paper and a pen in the meantime.”

“Thank you.”

Derek ran his thumb across soft skin on the back of the boy’s hand, hearing his heart beat settle.

“We’ll take it one step at a time,” Derek said softly. “If you don’t think you can make it the full day, I’m just a phone call away.”

“I’ve got a lot to catch up on,” Stiles muttered.

“And you’ve got a large network of friends who want nothing more than to help,” Derek reminded him. “We’ll get through this, okay?”

Stiles looked at him, taking a moment to breathe deeply and calm himself. He lost himself in the shimmering depths of Derek’s eyes as he replied, “Okay.”


	18. Chapter 18

Derek pulled into the school parking lot for the third time that day. He shut off the engine and made his way across the lot towards the school oval.

He buried his hands in his pocket and stood at the far end of the field, watching as the boys ran back and forth across the grass. One of them scooped the ball up off of the ground and hurled it powerfully into the goal, passing defences and scoring the last goal of practice. The divided team ran up to the boy, hurling their helmets and sticks aside and cheering the boy on. Scott and Isaac nearly knocked their teammate off his feet.

Derek was surprised when the boy took off his helmet, revealing the sweat-soaked face, cheeks speared with dirt and a gorgeous radiant smile.

Stiles.

The field was full of the cascading sound of the boys cheering, quieting only when Coach Finstock gave orders for everyone to pack up the gear, change and head home.

Derek smiled as he made his way back to the car, leaning against the bonnet and waiting to the boy. A few minutes later, Stiles and Scott came bounding out of the building, chatting.

Stiles smiled as he met Derek’s gaze.

The man stepped forward and took the bag of lacrosse gear from the boy, tossing it into the back of the four-wheel-drive.

Scott gave Stiles a hug and waved to Derek before leaving.

Stiles bounded into the car and Derek followed, sliding into his seat and starting the car.

“Saw that final goal,” Derek said unable to hide the hint of surprise and pride in his voice.

Stiles’ smile grew, his amber eyes glittering in the golden light of the setting sun.

“How was your day?” Derek asked.

“Surprisingly good,” Stiles replied. “Allison and Lydia have given me all their notes so I can catch up on everything I’ve missed, Scott and Isaac have run through drills with me in lacrosse and the teachers are giving me a little leeway and a couple of extensions on my assignments. Honestly, it’s just nice to have some normality back in my life.”

“That’s good,” Derek said softly.

“Although I do have to read the entirety of _The Scarlet Letter_ over the weekend,” Stiles muttered.

“I have a copy at home,” Derek told him. The man thought for a moment. “Would it help if I read it to you?”

Stiles looked at Derek, his amber eyes glittering with love as they reflected the golden light of the setting sun.

“I’d like that.”

 

Derek lugged the bag full of Stiles’ lacrosse gear upstairs while the boy trailed behind him, carrying the pile of notebooks and textbooks that Allison and Lydia had loaned him.

“Derek,” Stiles muttered.

The man turned around and looked the boy. “Yeah?”

“I still don’t know what to do with the house,” Stiles said, disheartened. “I can’t live there and I can’t give it up.”

“It’s okay. We’ve got time to work it out,” Derek assured him. “You have more options than just living there or selling it. Why don’t you rent it out?” Derek proposed. “I mean, we could box up everything that’s personal and store it in the rooms upstairs until you’re ready to sort through it all, but in the mean time you could rent out the house, fully furnished, and use the rent as an income to pay off the mortgage and utilities and your own savings.”

Stiles thought about it for a moment.

Derek’s feet fell still on the steps, he turned to look at Stiles.

“What?” he asked, panicked.

Stiles looked at him, a weak smile lifting his rosy pink lips as he whispered, “You’re a genius, you know that?”

Derek smirked. “Nah, it’s just your intelligence rubbing off on me.”

Derek pulled open the door and stepped into the loft, freezing just inside the door.

“Derek?” Stiles asked. His voice faltered as his eyes fell upon the same thing Derek was looking at: the slender figure that stood by the window, lean features lit by the deepening orange light of dusk.

“Peter,” Derek snarled.

The man turned around, his face lit with the cynical smile as he looked at the two of them. “Oh, now this is precious.”

“I gave you that key for emergencies,” Derek reminded him, narrowing his glare on the older man.

“Oh, Derek. It’s sad that I cannot visit to say hello to my nephew and his…” Peter turned his gaze to Stiles, narrowing his bright eyes in a glare as he finished his sentence, “…Fuck toy.”

Derek roared. He dropped Stiles’ bag and leapt across the loft.

He grabbed Peter by the front of his shirt and hurled him across the space.

Peter struck a pillar with a grunt, collapsing to the ground.

Derek was on him in seconds, eyes bright red as he pinned the man back against the sturdy concrete pillar. He snarled, baring his fangs and growling.

“Derek,” Stiles called after him, setting down the books and running to the man’s side. “Stop.”

Derek heaved in rugged breaths.

“Derek,” Stiles said calmly. “It’s not worth it. _He_ ’s not worth it.”

Derek shoved his uncle back against the pillar and let go of him. He stepped back just enough to let the man move.

“Get out,” Derek ordered.

Peter inhaled deeply, returning his composure as he straightened his back and walked towards the door.

He paused just before the large, rusting iron panel. He turned back to his nephew and said, “I hope you like seconds, Derek, because that’s all you’re going to get.” He turned his vicious glare back on Stiles. “Your little boyfriend, here, is a filthy whore.”

Derek lunged forward, but Stiles caught him in time, a soft touch being enough to stop the alpha.

Peter’s laughter could he heard echoing throughout the building as he left.

Derek heaved in rugged breaths, taking a moment to calm down.

“Are you okay?” he asked Stiles, his aventurine irises full of worry.

Stiles hung his head.

“He’s right,” the boy rasped.

“No, he’s not.”

“You deserve better than me,” Stiles whispered. “It’d be better if I just left now.”

The boy turned and made his way towards the door.

“Stiles,” Derek called after him, his voice quiet and pained. “Please, don’t… Don’t go.”

“It’s better off this way,” Stiles muttered.

“No,” Derek pleaded. “Please, wait.”

Stiles halted in the doorway, soft tears felling down his cheeks.

“Don’t make this harder than it already is,” Stiles begged.

“Please,” Derek said breathlessly. “Please, don’t go.”

Stiles hung his head tears falling to the rough concrete and shattering like glass. The water glittered as it streamed down his pale cheeks.

“Stiles, please,” Derek begged. “Please stay.”

“I can’t.”

“Please… Before you go, can I please show you something,” Derek requested.

Stiles exhaled deeply, rubbing at his face with his sleeve as he nodded.

Derek let out a short sigh of relief. He walked into the bedroom, pulling open one of the small drawers and picking up a folded piece of paper. It was crinkled and dirty, but obviously meant a lot to Derek as he handled it very delicately.

He made his way back to Stiles side and explained, “When we left for Mexico, Cora sent me to a therapist for my unresolved anger issues.”

“Seriously?” Stiles asked, smothering laughter.

Derek smiled, relieved. “Seriously.”

Stiles cupped his hand over his mouth to hide his smirk. Derek didn’t blame him; the thought of Derek’s little sister forcing the alpha to go to therapy was humorous to say the least.

“My therapist asked me to write down the things that I would look for in someone I love or trust without hesitation,” Derek continued, absent-mindedly fiddling with the paper. “Weeks later, when I had forgotten about it, she gave me a list of questions, told me to think about the top ten people in my life and answer the questions. This was the only one that got a perfect score.”

He handed Stiles the piece of paper.

The boy looked down at the printed sheet of questions and the answers filled out in Derek’s elegant handwriting. He drew in a deep breath and read them.

 

_Answer the following questions, yes or no._

_Do you trust them?_

                Yes.

_Do you love them as a family member or a friend?_

                Yes.

_Do they get in trouble often?_

                Yes.

_Is it, or was it, their fault?_

                No.

_If you were given a second chance, would you turn the other way and choose to never meet them?_

                No.

_If you could, would you kiss them goodbye? Even if you knew were going to see them again._

                Yes.

_Do you ever regret the time you spent with them? From the best memories to the worse._

                No.

_Do you love them?_

                Yes.

 

_Who were you thinking of?_

 

Stiles swallowed hard as he looked at Derek’s beautiful handwriting, spelling out the name.

 

Stiles.


	19. Chapter 19

Stiles sat upright on the bed, running his hands down his face. The papers and notebooks fluttered and crackled about his waist as they shifted with the movements of the mattress. He breathed in deeply, looking over to where Derek sat on the couch, reading.

They hadn’t exactly talked after Derek gave him the note. They had spent a few hours sitting in silence in each other’s arms, but then Derek told Stiles that he should make a start on his homework – and so he did.

Stiles stacked his papers and books and set them aside. He crawled off of the bed and shuffled across the loft. He dragged his bare feet across the polished concrete. He clambered onto the couch and sat facing Derek.

“I want to have sex with you,” he said.

Derek raised his brow in surprise. Closing his book and setting it aside as he turned to face the boy. “Come again?”

“I want to have sex with you,” Stiles repeated.

“If you think you have to sleep with me to pay me for something, then forget it,” Derek muttered.

“No, I want to have meaningful sex with you. I want…” He bowed his head to hide his blush. “I want to make love to you.” He paused for a moment, feeling Derek’s gaze heat his skin as a warm blush coloured his cheeks. “I want you to make love to me.”

Derek leant forward. He slid his fingers beneath Stiles’ chin, lifting the boy’s face and bringing their lips together in a tender kiss.

Stiles leant into the kiss, his lips quivering against the warmth.

Derek cupped the back of Stiles’ skull, waiting until Stiles relaxed into the warmth of the man’s lips and returned the kiss.

Stiles coiled his arms around Derek’s broad shoulders, lacing his fingers through the soft, cropped locks of Derek’s raven black hair.

Derek pulled Stiles closer, settling his hand on the boy’s hip and laying him back against the soft cushions of the couch and laying with him. He let the warmth of his body melt into the boy’s. He kept his hand threaded through the boy’s hair, feeling the silky smooth locks laced between his fingers. His other hand trailed down the boy’s side, caressing his surprisingly firm abs and running his fingers over the ridges of the boy’s ribs before settling on the curve of his hip, pulling him closer and grinding their hips against each other.

Stiles slid his hand down Derek’s side and up under the hem of Derek’s shirt, feeling the taut muscles that twitched beneath the man’s golden flesh. He caressed the soft skin, feeling the smooth curves, the warmth of his body and the seams of his muscles.

Derek’s hand slid down to the boy’s neck, massaging the taut muscles as he turned his head and deepened the kiss.

Stiles hummed against his lips, rolling his lips and grinding his groin against Derek’s, feeling the man’s growing bulge press against the tight denim.

Stiles moaned louder at the friction.

Derek ran his tongue across Stiles’ lips.

Stiles welcomed his dominating tongue, moaning as he bucked his hips against Derek’s.

His crotch throbbed, desperate to find relief as his growing erection pressed against his constricting jeans.

A needy whimper fell from his lips, the sound spurring Derek on as he deepened the kiss – now evolving into something more: searing, passionate, deep and messy.

Stiles could tell that Derek was desperately trying to restrain himself from devouring the boy.

Stiles’ breath left him in short gasps, every broken kiss followed by a needy whimper that begged for another.

Stiles tried desperately to make that moment last forever, but the burning pain in his lungs forced him to break away for air. Derek chased the boy’s soft pink lips, bringing them together again.

Every kiss started out as tender and loving, but quickly escalated into something more savagely passionate. It was hard, deep and messy. Stiles looped his arm around Derek’s neck, using his weight to pull the man closer.

Warm hands trailed up Stiles’ sides, fingers running across the ridges of his ribs, up his chest and along his biceps, pinning his arms above his head. Soft lips latched onto his throat, gently kissing and sucking at the pale skin. Smooth teeth gently grazed his jugular, nipping at the flesh as they made his way up to his jaw. The warm breath made him shiver as it rolled across his freckled skin. The soft kisses returned, trailing along his jaw and seeking out the scattered moles on his face. He sighed heavily, gasping as their hips ground against each other. He dug his nails into the firm bicep, eliciting a low growl from the man as he buckled his hips in response.

The man’s breath hissed through his gritted teeth as the vibrations spurred him on.

Derek threaded his hands through Stiles’ unkempt hair, the buds of his fingers gently massaging the boy’s scalp.

His touch was a tender caress as he massaged the boy’s scalp and ran the soft chestnut locks though his slender fingers.

It was a sensory overload for both of them, but God it felt good.

The hand on the boy’s hip pulled him closer, the ball of his thumb rubbing circles into the pale, exposed patch of Stiles’ skin.

Stiles drew back again, resting his forehead against Derek’s. He could feel Derek’s rugged breaths pant against his lips, trails of warmth lingering on his lips.

Derek sighed, pressing their foreheads together. Stiles shuddered beneath his touch as Derek ran his hands up his sides, caressing him as if testing for reality.

Stiles blinked open his eyes, the amber depths consumed by the onyx depths of desire.

Derek looked back, his aventurine eyes glittering with love. He craned his neck and bought their mouths together again.

The boy moaned, buckling his hips up to meet Derek’s. He felt the man’s bulge press against his thigh.

Derek was hard as hell, his erection aching and drooling precome through his boxers.

The man moaned, pulling back just far enough to bury his face in the curve of Stiles’ throat. He bit lightly down on the junction of Stiles’ neck and shoulder.

Stiles arched up with a full-body shudder and wordless moan. Having found a spot sensitive enough to earn such a response, Derek teased it relentlessly: nipping and sucking at the tender spot before lathering it with kisses.

Stiles moaned loudly, throwing his head back and exposing his pale flesh to Derek.

The man took advantage of the boy’s dropped defences, bringing his lips to Stiles’ jugular and littering the skin with sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. He nipped and sucked at the skin, not hard enough to break the skin but just enough that it would leave a mark in the morning, and definitely enough to reduce the boy to shuddering moans.

Derek felt a rush of heat roll through his body. He flinched and turned his face away, wincing as he tried to catch his breath.

Stiles lifted his head and looked at the boy. He reached forward and rested a hand against Derek’s cheek. He felt the man’s rough whiskers brush against his palm as Derek nuzzled his face against Stiles’ hand.

Stiles caught a glint of Derek’s vermillion eyes and dropped fangs.

“It’s okay,” Stiles assured him.

“Stiles,” Derek started, gasping. “I can’t… I don’t want to risk biting you.”

“You won’t,” Stiles promised in a hushed voice. “I know you won’t.”

Derek ran his hand through the boy’s soft locks, gently tugging at his unkempt hair.

Stiles fell back into his grip, letting Derek’s slender fingers guide him.

He tilted the boy’s head to the side and brought their mouths together. The first kiss was tender as Derek brushed his lips across Stiles’, then Derek crushed their mouths together in a brutal, bruising kiss.

Derek ran his tongue across Stiles’ lips and Stiles obeyed, opening his mouth to welcome Derek’s dominating tongue.

Stiles sighed against the blistering warmth, letting Derek devour him. He ran his nails across the man’s shoulder blades, making him growl and buck his hips. The pain seemed to spur Derek on.

He pulled away again, trailing his lips down Stiles’ jaw and running his teeth across the boy’s throat gently, not enough to hurt but just enough to taste that tantalising flesh.

He secured his grip on the boy, hoisting Stiles’ thighs around his waist before standing and carrying him over to the bed. He laid the boy back across the sheets.

He locked his lips on the boy’s throat, feeling his thundering pulse pound against his flesh.

He sighed as he sucked at the flesh. He trailed his kisses up to the patch of the flesh behind Stiles’ ear. He took the boy’s earlobe between his lips, sucking and nibbling at the flesh.

Stiles’ moans escalated to a draw out cry. His hips bucked against Derek’s thigh.

His gasped breathlessly as a wave of relief rolled over him.

He collapsed back against the pillows, clapping his hand over his mouth.

Derek pulled back, looking down at the patch of denim that covered Stiles’ crotch darkened.

“Oh God,” the boy muttered. He buried his face in his hands.

Derek sat up, gently taking a hold of the boy’s slender wrists and urging his hands away from his face.

“It’s okay,” he assured the boy, his voice calm and comforting.

“I swear that has never happened before,” the boy babbled. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Derek whispered. “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

Derek leant forward and pressed a tender kiss to the corner of the boy’s mouth, his lips barely brushing over the rosy pink flesh.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you that far,” Derek apologised. “But at least I know how to get you excited.”

The boy’s embarrassment began to fade, a soft blush still brightening his cheeks.

Derek smiled sweetly at him.

“Can we …” Stiles gnawed at his lip. “Can we keep going?”

“Do think you can go another round?” Derek asked

Stiles nodded eagerly.

“Okay,” Derek whispered. He leant forward and brought their lips together again. “But first things first, let’s get these jeans off of you.”

He sat back on the mattress, leaning forward to press a tender kiss to the patch of exposed skin between Stiles’ shirt and his waistband. He unbuttoned the boy’s jeans and tugged them down the boy’s legs and tossed them across the open space of the loft, boxers soon to follow.

Stiles shifted about slightly, feeling a little exposed.

Derek seemed to sense the boy’s discomfort, sliding off the bed and rising to his feet. He stripped out of his pants and pulled his shirt over his head.

Stiles hummed contently, the sound dying down into a needy whimper.

Derek didn’t leave him begging. He crept back onto the bed, bring their lips together again and relieving the boy of his shirt.

He pulled back from the kiss, running his hands up the boy’s thighs.

“Is it okay if I top?” Derek asked. “I mean, if you want to then that’s okay too, but-”

“You top,” Stiles gasped. “Please.”

Derek pressed a kiss to the boy’s throat.

“Okay,” he purred.

He trailed his lips down the boy’s chest and abdomen, his broad hands encouraging the boy to lift his hips.

Derek grabbed a pillow from the top of the bed and set it beneath the boy’s hips.

He trailed kisses down the inside of Stiles’ thigh, encouraging the boy to spread his legs as he brought his face to the boy’s ass. He ran his tongue across Stiles’ opening, listening to the boy inhale and roll his hips towards his mouth. Derek ran his hands along Stiles’ inner thighs, pinning his hips down against the pillow. He dragged his tongue across Stiles’ entrance again, stopping to swirl the tip of his tongue in slow, torturous circles.

His crotch throbbed at the sound of Stiles’ unrestrained gasps and groans.

He moved his hand up to Stiles’ come-slick cock, gently grazing the palm of his hand against his returning erection.

“Oh God,” Stiles gasped, unravelling before the alpha as he thrashed about. “Derek”

Derek hummed against his entrance.

Stiles cried out with delight, grabbing at fistfuls of the sheets.

Derek slid his tongue into him.

Stiles’ hips twitched, indecisive of whether to roll into Derek’s hand or against his face.

Derek couldn’t help but smirk as Stiles whimpered when he withdrew his longue. He gently sucked at his entrance, dragging his tongue across it before quickly lapping at it. He set a pattern of slow drags, soft sucking and quick flicks of his tongue that tortured erotic gasps from the boy.

Stiles’ feet kicked and thrashed uselessly as he tried to press harder against Derek, frustrated moan filling the air as Derek lightly flicked his tongue against his entrance.

Derek could feel the boy’s cock growing harder and slicker, precome liberally spilling from the head and dripping over his hand.

He repeated the pattern, harassing animalistic groans from Stiles as Derek dipped his tongue in and out of the opening.

Derek drew back, stepping over to his bedside table. He tossed a condom and a bottle of lube onto the mattress before returning to the boy. He paused, drinking in the sight of Stiles sprawled out before him and whimpering for his touch.

He popped open the lid of the lube and spread the cool gel across his fingers. He pressed his fingertips against Stiles’ opening, slowly massaging the tense muscle. He slipped one finger in, pushing against the pressure and resistance. He sank in one knuckle at a time, listening to Stiles’ broken cry. The boy’s trembling hands clawed at the sheets.

Derek placed a soft kiss to Stiles’ inner thigh, a rumbling growl rolling across his skin as he sunk his finger in deeper.

Stiles’ back arched off of the bed, a rugged cry tearing at his throat.

Derek whispered sweet nothings to him as he slowly eased his finger in and out of the boy.

Stiles rolled his head back and tried to slow his breathing. His teeth tore into his lip as Derek sank a second finger into him. He waited a moment for Stiles to relax before sliding his fingers in further.

A heavy moan dragged its way out of the boy’s chest.

Derek stilled his fingers, waiting for Stiles to calm down again before curling his fingertips against Stiles’ prostate.

Stiles’ back arched off the mattress and his hips ground down against Derek’s fingers, a broken wail begging him for more.

“There?” Derek teased, slowly working his fingers back and forth and curling his tips again. He stilled his hand and withdrew from the boy.

He reached across the bed and grabbed the condom from where it had fallen on the rippling sheets, dipping down to gently kiss and nip at Stiles’ neck.

“Are you absolutely sure?” Derek asked.

Stiles nodded eagerly, reaching for Derek.

The man leant forward and brought his lips to Stiles’. He hummed against the boy’s lips, melting into the warmth. It almost broke his heart to pull back.

He grabbed Stiles’ hip and swapped positions, sitting the boy in his lap as he laid back against the sheets.

“You have the power,” Derek told him.

Stiles leant forward, running his hands down Derek’s chest as he brought their lips together. They stayed like that for a moment, ignoring the prospect of sex and melting into the tenderness of the kiss.

Derek’s hands ran down the boy’s body, making Stiles hum and arch to his touch.

Stiles reached behind him and lined Derek’s cock up with his entrance, sinking back and taking the impressive length of Derek’s dick inside of him. He let out rugged cries and euphoric moans as he took a moment to get used to the sensation of penetration.

Derek gasped and moaned as the heat and pressure bore down on his dick.

“Take it easy,” Derek said softly. “Take it slowly.”

“Okay,” Stiles gasped.

Derek sat up on his elbows and pressed a tender kiss to the corner of the boy’s mouth.

“You don’t have to go hard and fast to pleasure me,” Derek assured him. “In fact, I’d love it if you drew out every second of this.”

Stiles hummed in agreement, gently pushing at Derek’s chest and encouraging the man to lay back against the pillows.

Derek obliged, his eyes fixated on Stiles and full of love as he watched the boy’s every movement.

Stiles rocked his hips back, moving himself up and down Derek’s cock. His erection rubbed against Derek’s abs, the plump pink head slick with precome and twitching as Stiles rolled his hips in circles.

Derek gasped and groaned, resting his hand on the boy’s hip. He rubbed his thumb in circles across the patch of soft flesh that covered the protruding bone of his hip as his thick cock stirred Stiles’ insides.

Stiles steadied his hands against Derek’s ribs, his fingers seeping into the seams of the man’s muscles as he moved, setting a rhythm of rocking back and forth and then rolling his hips in circles.

Stiles leant forward, bring their lips together again. He moaned against Derek’s lips as the man’s hands ran up and down the boy’s back, exploring every inch of his skin, every ridge of his spine, and every curve of his figure.

Derek sighed blissfully, his skin prickling with heat as their bodies melted together. He inhaled deeply, smelling every drop of primal sweat that sat upon Stiles’ moonlight-pale flesh.

Stiles kept his hips moving, grinding his hip against Derek’s and consuming the man’s cock with his soft ass. He leant back, bracing himself against Derek’s thighs as he moved faster and faster. Derek moaned at the warmth, the tension that dragged at his length.

Derek watched the boy, his freckles dancing across his body as the blanket of flesh rippled as he moved. He watched as Stiles rose up and dropped down over his cock, consuming him.

Stiles’ erotic moans were strangled into broken gasps as he grew closer and closer to his climax. His stomach tensed and his rhythm stuttered as Derek’s cock pressed against his prostate. He tried to quicken the pace, sliding up to the tip of Derek’s length before dropping down the base.

Derek grabbed the boy’s hips.

“I said slowly,” he reminded the boy, his voice a soft whisper.

He held the boy’s hips in place, slowly rocking his hips up to meet Stiles’. His cock hit Stiles’ prostate, making him cry out and grind back, desperate for more stimulation.

Derek caved. He held Stiles upright and thrust into him, slowly at first but quickly picking up the speed.

Stiles’ moans escalated into one drawn out cry. He threw his head back and cried out as he reached his climax. Spurts of semen erupted from the head of his cock, his body shuddering in Derek’s hold as his cried died away, breathless and overstimulated.

Derek soon followed, throwing his head back as he came.

It took a moment for them to regain their senses, gasping and grunting as the euphoric waves of their orgasms died down.

Derek carefully set Stiles down on the bedsheets, racing into the bathroom to fetch a towel. He rushed back to Stiles’ side and cleaned the boy up before doing the same for himself.

He discarded the condom and fetched Stiles a glass of water. He helped the boy sit upright and sip at the cool liquid before setting him down among the sheets again.

The water sloshed about in the glass as Derek set it down on the bedside table.

He laid back on the mattress. A soft smirk lifted his cheeks as Stiles rolled over, grunting and gasping a little as he willed his lanky limbs to follow. He shuffled closer to Derek.

The alpha set his hand on the boy’s hip, his veins darkening a he funnelled the pain form the boy’s body.

Stiles laid his hand on Derek’s wrist, stilling him.

Derek froze, lifting his bright aventurine eyes to meet Stiles’.

“Doesn’t hurt,” the boy slurred.

“If you’re in pain-” Derek started

“Don’t worry,” Stiles interrupted. “It’s not a sadistic punishment or anything. It’s just a nice reminder… I’ve wanted that for so long. I just want it to last.”

Derek snuggled closer to the boy.

They were silent for a moment, enjoying the heated rush of their blood in their veins and the presence of each other.

“I want to make one thing clear,” Derek whispered. “It’s never easy getting over something like this. The loss will be with you forever. There will be good days and there will be bad days, but I promise I will be by your side for every single one of those days. Please, don’t be afraid to come to me, to talk to me.”

Stiles shuffled closer. He curled up against Derek’s chest and muttered, “I promise.”

There was another moment of quiet, not an awkward silence; a comfortable one.

Derek could hear Stiles’ heartbeat hammering rapidly.

“What’s wrong?” Derek asked.

“Will you please come to the funeral?” the boy begged, his eyes filling with tears. He sniffed. “I don’t think I can do it alone.”

Derek gently shushed him, holding him close as he let the boy cry.

“Of course,” Derek whispered. “Of course I’ll be there for you.”

Stiles nuzzled his face into the warmth of Derek’s bicep.

“I’ll be there for the funeral and every time you want to visit the grave,” Derek promised. “I will be there for every lacrosse game and your graduation. I’ll be there for every good day and every bad one. I promise, I will always be here for you,” Derek muttered, nestling his face into the mess of Stiles’ hair. “I promise, I will always love you.”

For the first time in a long time, Stiles felt secure. He felt welcome and he felt loved. Enough so that, in his sleep-hazed state, he was just able to make out the slurred words, “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is, the final chapter.
> 
> I just want to take a moment to thank you all so much for coming along on this trip with me, though the highs and the lows. Thank you all fro reading and leaving kudos, creative criticism and lovely comments (I'm not kidding, that's the stuff that keeps me going).   
> Thank you all so much. <3

**Author's Note:**

> celestialvoid-fanfiction.tumblr.com


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